


After The End

by Norathar



Series: After The End (Alexandra de Sardet) [1]
Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:14:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 61,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26056312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norathar/pseuds/Norathar
Summary: An extended epilogue exploring what happens to de Sardet after that ending. (This will be a complete, novel-length work, divided into two major parts: the first is de Sardet on the island, and the second is the return to Serene. It's done, I just have to post it!) The warning for graphic violence is only for that opening chapter, which is a recap of the final scene of the game, and for one other flashback, also to an in-game event; it's probably unnecessary, but better safe than sorry. This isn't a romance-focused fic, but Kurt and de Sardet are together, hence the tag. Hope I'm doing everything right, this is my first time posting a fic online in a very long time!I believe I'm going to split this into two parts, since it is very long (well over 100,000 words) - so the next piece will be Return To Serene, posted as part 2 in the series.
Relationships: Kurt/De Sardet (GreedFall)
Series: After The End (Alexandra de Sardet) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901524
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

“No! Stop!” The corrupted _nadaig baro_ roared its displeasure, but paused its attack as Constantin stepped forward, extending a hand in command. “Step back.”

It obeyed, and Constantin turned to face his cousin. “I do not desire your death. I’m sorry.”

His voice was tinged with regret, but there was no acceptance in Alexandra de Sardet’s voice as she advanced on him, demanding, “Why? Why have you done this?”

“But for you, for us! So that we may live free at last.”

“This makes no sense. Constantin, it’s madness,” she pleaded. She thought of the journal entries she’d found in his office, page after page of raving and delusion; the words were the same as the ones on those pages, but so much harder to hear coming from his lips.

“You don’t understand because you’re still attached to the old world. This old, dying world, which, to survive, has betrayed, used, and manipulated us, and would not have hesitated to kill us.”

Alexandra looked at the markings the malichor had left on her cousin’s face, streaked with those left by Catasach’s ritual. _Betrayed._ She thought of the Coin Guard’s attempted coup, of shepherding Constantin to a cellar while she went forth with Kurt and Vasco to stop the traitors. _Used._ She thought of Constantin’s father, the Prince d’Orsay, who had sent him to that island for his own purposes. _Manipulated._ She thought of the corrupt doctor who had given them the “medicine” that had poisoned him.

_In his search for a cure, Doctor Asili would not have hesitated to kill Constantin. He would not have hesitated to kill us both._ Constantin’s words were as true for herself as for him. _My “uncle” kidnapped me from my home before I was ever born. He took me from my people not once, but twice: first, from my home on Teer Fradee, and then from the home I might have had with the Nauts, as a sea-born._ She was a diplomat; she knew what it was to be used by another, manipulated into playing their games. She certainly knew that there were those who would gladly have seen her dead, both in the Bridge Alliance and Theleme, and even in the Congregation itself.

She could not deny her cousin’s words, but she could not indulge his madness. “Perhaps, but…” she hedged, trying to find the words to persuade him.

Constantin’s eyes shone as he said, “I’ve seen death, cousin, and I understood the vanity of it all! My father’s ruses, just so he could earn more power…the political bowing and scraping to preserve corrupted nations! I have been offered unrivalled power allowing me to get rid of this! To send the old world back to its inevitable death and to build something new here…something unique!”

He smiled, and there was something in that smile that reminded her of the way he had looked when they had first come to Teer Fradee, when he had been vibrant and healthy and full of plans for his new kingdom. _He called it a kingdom._ In his eyes, the ramshackle, thriving settlement town had been as expansive as the entirety of the Congregation.

“And this new world is my gift to you! You and I could be its new gods. The immortal and benevolent monarchs!”

In that moment, she almost understood him. In that moment, there was almost an appeal to his words. Despite the grand, impossible declarations, or perhaps because of them, she heard Constantin underneath: the dreaming idealist he’d had been when they’d embarked on their journey, the best friend who’d shared everything with her, closer to a brother than a cousin. She thought of her own frustrations with the depravity of the Alliance’s scientists, of the Ordo Luminis, the secrecy of the Nauts and the corruption of the Coin Guard, of the way the Prince of the Congregation of Merchants had hurt them both, and she understood Constantin’s desire to sweep it all away and build the world anew. _That was why we came here, wasn’t it? To build a better world?_

But then the ghostly voice of _en on mil frichtimen_ resonated around them, echoing through the cavern. “ _He himself is the incarnation of the old world he is speaking of…he has its vices and its poison_ …”

Constantin turned.

_“For his own immortality, he’s prepared to destroy everything around him…to break millennia of cycles…I implore you, flesh of my land, think of the lives that will come to an end to feed his pride!”_

_The lives that will come to an end._ She thought of the men and women who had gathered outside, uniting despite their differences – and, more than anything, she thought of her friends, facing onslaught after onslaught of corrupted, ravenous beasts, ready to tear them limb from limb. Any appeal she might have found in his new future withered and died.

“Don’t listen to this old god,” Constantin protested. “He’s like all the others, after all, clinging to life!”

_So are you._ Alexandra remembered Constantin’s despair as his blood turned black; she remembered her own, as the best healers of Hikmet and San Matheus failed in their attempts to help. _Constantin, don’t you hear yourself?_

“All you have to do is bind yourself, here, to me…and we will be gods, together, forever!” Constantin unsheathed his dagger, offering it to her hilt-first.

She took the dagger. Inside her gauntlets, her hands shook. _He trusts me completely._

Constantin extended his hand. She looked into his eyes, and saw the madness there. _I will never be able to persuade him._ The irony nearly crushed her: she was Legate de Sardet of the Congregation of Merchants, known throughout Teer Fradee for her skill at diplomacy. Since her arrival, she had negotiated, pleaded, cajoled, threatened, and persuaded every faction on the island into agreement; her words had brought them together, here, today.

But she knew now that her words would never be enough. She knew her failure would mean the death of her friends, the death of all who had followed her, even the death of all those who might be saved if a cure for the malichor was discovered.

She looked at Constantin, hand outstretched, offering her immortality and godhood, and knew what she had to do.

“Come…” Constantin whispered.

She looked down at the knife, then at Constantin, and took three quick steps forward. She met Constantin’s eyes, wide with expectation, delight, and trust.

Before she could lose her nerve, she slipped the blade beneath his ribs, driving it upward, striking for the heart. She felt the tip of the blade scrape against a rib as it drove upward; she felt it come out the other side, breaking the skin of his back; she felt his blood spilling from the wound, seeping out from around the hilt. The force of the blow lifted him from his feet; his back arched as he was lifted onto his toes, impaled on the blade.

Constantin’s eyes never left her. There was no fury, no hatred, only a flash of surprise followed by disappointment.

“What a shame…” he whispered.

Alexandra de Sardet did not look away. She held his gaze, even as the _nadaig baro_ reared up, writhing as Constantin stretched out his arms, raising them to the sky. She heard his breathing, the short gasps painfully audible despite the cacophony around them.

She held onto Constantin to keep him from falling. One hand on his shoulder, the other on the knife that was still buried in his gut, she held tight to him as the _nadaig baro_ roared and stretched out its own arms, the noise thundering around them.

She fully expected to die then, killed by the _nadaig baro_ , either in its madness or in Constantin’s. _He’s been betrayed by so many,_ she thought; she wouldn’t have blamed him for wanting to kill her. His father and mother were in Serene, untouchable; High King Vinbarr, Doctor Asili, and Commander Torsten were all dead, either killed by de Sardet’s own hand or because of her actions.

_But I’m here,_ she thought, as the _nadaig baro_ reared up before her. _I’m here, Constantin._

The _nadaig baro_ leaned forward, roaring at them both, its breath hotter and fouler than the air within the dead volcano. As it roared, she heard Constantin let out a whimper of pain, then a breath, and even as the _nadaig baro_ retreated, the light left his eyes and he collapsed.

She didn’t let him fall. Still holding him, she eased his body to the ground, sinking with him. Gently, she laid him down, watching as his eyes closed for the last time.

“Good night, sweet prince,” she whispered.

_He’s gone._ She had saved the island, both _en on mil frichtimen_ and all those who lived on Teer Fradee. She had saved the promise of a cure.

Yet she felt no joy. There was grief, but only distantly; she felt numb, distanced from everything, as if none of it was real. _If only it was a dream_. _If only I could wake._

Letting go of Constantin’s body, she sat down on the ground beside him. The _nadaig baro_ looked into her eyes, and she realized that the murderous rage that had consumed it was entirely gone: there was no anger left in its eyes, nor any sense of enmity.

It retreated, and she realized that it wasn’t going to kill her. _Constantin, forgive me…_

Overwhelmed, she sank to the ground, staring up, numb with exhaustion, and let the darkness claim her.


	2. Chapter Two

“Let me pass! Make way!” 

The crowd gathered before the entrance to Anemhaid parted. Some of the Coin Guard knew who he was and deferred to his rank; those from the Bridge Alliance recognized the companion at his side, and didn’t wish to incur the lash of her tongue; but most simply didn’t wish to get in the way of a battle-hardened soldier in full armor covered in blood that wasn’t his own, shouting orders in a tone that expected immediate obedience.

The tone of authority turned to panic as the soldier caught sight of the entrance, now blocked by a fall of boulders. “What happened? I felt the mountain shake, and then the attacks stopped, but—”

He began to move forward, but an older man with a weathered face and the armor of a bishop of Theleme caught him by the shoulder. “My son, wait,” he said. 

The soldier moved to roughly pull away before he registered the voice. “Bishop Petrus.” He didn’t wait for acknowledgment before asking, “What happened? Where is she? Were you with her?”

There was a moment of over-long silence before the bishop finally spoke. “I was not,” he said, in a tone that weighed heavy with guilt. “I left her at the entrance, helping to reinforce my companions from Theleme. I hoped to give her enough time to gain admittance to the sanctuary, and to find her cousin.”

“What of Vasco? Siora?”

“We’re here,” a Naut captain said, moving to their side; the movement betrayed a slight limp and a grimace of pain that suggested an injury. A native woman followed; like Vasco, she was slightly injured, her forehead streaked with a combination of sweat and blood.

“We too stayed with our people, to fight alongside them. They needed our help.”

“And she didn’t?”

“We stayed behind too, Kurt,” his companion reminded him. “If we hadn’t, I doubt that any of your people would have survived to tell of it – or mine, for that matter.”

“Was it that bad, Aphra?” Vasco asked.

She nodded. “We were nearly overrun more than once. Kurt saved Commander Sieglinde’s life, just as he saved mine, and half a dozen others beside.” She raised an eyebrow. “Despite what de Sardet said, he truly was a hero, and I’m grateful for it.”

“I’m no hero,” Kurt protested. “The Coin Guard has a saying: the only heroes in any battle are the ones who didn’t make it off the field.”

“Given that I would have been one of them if it hadn’t been for you, I’ll beg to differ,” Aphra shot back.

“If the attacks hadn’t stopped when they had, we all would have been heroes,” said Kurt. “We were close to losing the day.” 

Siora nodded grimly. “There are many dead, and more wounded. We have sent for Dunncas; he is coming, and will bring many healers from his clan.”

“But what happened?” Kurt faced the entrance to the volcano sanctuary, staring helplessly at the blocked passage. “Where is she?”

“She’s in there,” Petrus said. “She went to face her cousin. We were fighting to hold the entrance when we heard roaring from within.”

Siora’s face was pale. “The _nadaig baro_ ,” she murmured. “The guardian of the sanctuary.”

“The mountain shook, and when it stilled, the attacks stopped – but when we thought to go to her aid, we found that rocks had fallen, blocking the passage into the heart.” Tears spilled down Petrus’s cheeks. “I am truly sorry.”

“No.” Kurt took a step toward the boulders, as if he planned to pry them apart with his bare hands, but Vasco took him by the shoulder, pulling him back. For a moment, he looked as if he might take a swing at the Naut captain, but then his voice cracked. “I was supposed to protect her. Protect them both…”

“Do not despair. She may yet be alive.” Siora went to Kurt’s side; in the last weeks, they had spent more time with de Sardet than any of the others. “Dunncas will come.”

The waiting was intolerable for them all. Petrus and Siora both prayed, one to the Enlightened, the other to _en on mil frichtimen_ ; Aphra examined the blocked passage, attempting to work out whether or not a few grenades might be able to clear away the boulders without causing another rockfall; and Kurt paced helplessly, while Vasco alternately tried to calm him and keep others away.

It felt like an eternity had passed before Dunncas arrived, flanked by _doneigad_. All those present, _renaigse_ or native, moved away from the entrance to let him pass, save for de Sardet’s five companions.

“My king,” Siora began breathlessly. “My—”

Dunncas nodded. “I have heard,” he said gravely. “She who is _carants_ to us all entered, to stop the death-bringer from slaying _en on mil frichtimen_.” He looked around at the crowd that had gathered. “Leave, all of you.”

Most of the crowd obeyed, but de Sardet’s companions remained. Petrus cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, if I may—”

“You may remain.” Without saying anything more, Dunncas took a dagger from his belt and sliced his palm, then pressed it into the earth, concentrating.

After a moment, there came a rumbling from within the passage itself: the sound of heavy footsteps. Several of de Sardet’s companions looked up in alarm: each of them recognized it as the footfall of a _nadaig_.

Only Siora remained serene. “It is free of the death-bringer’s corruption,” she said. “It will not harm us.”

There was another rumbling, this time closer, and the sound of rock grinding against rock. Dust shook and fell from the entrance, producing clouds that made them raise their hands to their eyes to protect themselves.

Vasco was the first to see. “It’s moving the boulders!”

As they watched, the _nadaig baro_ cleared the rocks that had fallen across the sanctuary entrance: the largest boulders, it rolled or carried away, while it pulverized some of the smallest rocks with its bare hands, turning them to dust.

Watching that, Kurt let out a choked cry. “If that thing went mad, if she had to fight it…”

“That _thing_ is a sacred guardian of my people,” Siora flared. “It would not have fought her willingly.”

“Does it matter?” Aphra asked. “Willingly or not, its power is too great—”

“If anyone could have defeated it, it was her,” said Vasco. “You heard Constantin: he said he didn’t want her harmed. Every time she faced one of his creatures before, he gave it orders not to let it hurt her. Why would this time be any different?”

“This time, she would have killed him,” said Aphra. “If he realized that, do you think he would have stayed his hand?”

Kurt was still staring at the sanctuary entrance. “I should have stayed with her. We all should have stayed with her.”

Her anger gone, Siora laid a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “I am sorry, Kurt. I know she is your _minundhanem_.”

As the _nadaig baro_ cleared away the last of the boulders, it leaned down into the entrance, peering out at those still gathered there. It did not roar, nor even growl, but simply stared for a moment before disappearing back into the passage.

Dunncas remained with his palm pressed to the ground for a moment longer before he rose. “Come with me.”

None of the companions needed to be told twice: though all were exhausted from the battle, still clad in heavy armor, they followed. The High King led them down a winding passage; of all of them, only Kurt and Siora had been there before, having accompanied de Sardet on her first journey into the sanctuary.

The cavern opened, and Aphra let out a gasp of wonder. “It’s magnificent,” she breathed.

Petrus spoke at the same time. “By the Enlightened…”

Vasco shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Caught by the wonder of the sanctuary, each of them was looking up, staring at _en on mil frichtimen_ ; only Kurt was looking at the ground before them. “No!” he shouted, seeing the pair of bodies lying on the cavern floor. Casting aside his helmet and warhammer as he ran, he fell to his knees at her side, cradling her body.

The other four companions were left to stare. All of them knew that the captain of the guard for New Serene was involved with de Sardet, but their romance had always been conducted with discretion; she might tease him, and he might call her by an affectionate nickname when he thought no one else was listening, but none had ever seen him look so entirely vulnerable, tears streaming down his face as he held her.

“Green Blood,” he sobbed, using the nickname that he’d given her while still her master-at-arms. “Sweet Excellency. _Alexandra_ …”

Siora, the next to reach them, knelt next to the other body, looking with distaste at the mad _renaigse_ who’d attempted to murder her god. “He is dead,” she said.

Vasco looked at the blood on de Sardet’s gauntlets, then at the blood that had pooled on the ground beneath Constantin, seeping from beneath his armor. “She killed him.”

Aphra nodded. “She saved us all.”

Vasco’s brow furrowed as he crouched beside Constantin’s body. “That isn’t her blade,” he pointed out. “I’ve never seen it before.” De Sardet preferred to use her magic, and more recently, Aphra had taught her how to create traps and grenades; while she kept both blade and pistol on her, she rarely used either.

“It looks like a native ritual blade,” said Aphra. “Like the one that Yewan used in his ceremony at Cergganaw.”

“It must have belonged to Constantin,” said Petrus. He looked down at the body. “She loved him as a brother. How difficult it must have been for her to strike the final blow. May the Enlightened keep her—”

“She’s alive,” Kurt breathed. He had been holding her close against him; now, he pulled back, watching her.

She was still enough that Aphra’s brow furrowed in doubt, but Vasco leaned forward, pulling a knife from his belt and holding it over her lips. When the metal fogged, he nodded. “She’s breathing.” 

“ _To ease her suffering, I gave her the gift of sleep_.” The voice echoed around them, resonating through the chamber. “ _The child of my earth, stolen from my land. She killed the intruder, he who twisted my guardian, who turned the_ nadaig baro _against me.”_

“She fought that? Alone?” Vasco asked.

“ _She fought it, but the intruder would not let it kill her.”_

“Of course,” said Aphra. Constantin had given the order before, when they had first pursued him. _Hold them back, but do not kill her for anything in the world._

“ _She stopped the intruder from completing the bonding, and my guardian was freed from his corruption, as were all the guardians of this isle.”_

Petrus looked down at Constantin, the knife buried in his gut. “What it must have cost her,” he murmured.

The voice died away, and de Sardet took in a sharper breath as she stirred, her eyelids fluttering open. She looked up. “Kurt?”

“I’m here,” he said, then seemed to remember they weren’t alone. “We all are.”

“Constantin,” she breathed.

Kurt hesitated, glancing at the body beside her. “He—” he began, but didn’t have to answer: de Sardet’s eyes closed once more, transitioning from _en on mil frichtimen’_ s magically-induced slumber into the sleep of pure exhaustion.

“We need to get her back to New Serene,” said Kurt. “She needs a healer.”

“No,” Petrus said sharply. All four of the other companions turned to stare at him. “Not New Serene.”

Aphra bristled. “You want to take her to San Matheus?”

“Certainly not. Nor to Hikmet, for that matter,” Petrus replied. He paused, staring down at Constantin’s body. “I once served at the court of Serene, as a member of Theleme’s embassy to the Congregation of Merchants. I have met the Prince d’Orsay.”

“He had little regard for Constantin, but he was his only son and heir. He may not have cared for his son as Constantin himself would have wished, but I do not believe he is a man entirely without feeling…and even a man who did not love his child as he ought may still bitterly regret the consequences of that child’s death.”

Petrus regarded de Sardet. “The Prince d’Orsay had no affection for his own child. While his sister, the Princess de Sardet, certainly loved her daughter deeply, the Prince only ever viewed her as a useful tool of state: first, I believe, in the hopes that her example might lead his own son to become more responsible, and more importantly, as a diplomatic asset here, on the island that ought to have been her home.” 

“If he discovers that Constantin died at the hand of the child he stole from Teer Fradee, his reaction may be rather less than charitable…and that is without considering the reaction of the Princess d’Orsay, his mother. She may care little for her son, but a great deal of her status was derived from her position as the mother of the heir, and his death will undoubtedly ruin certain of her intrigues. I had heard she was already planning for Constantin’s marriage upon his return to the continent.” Petrus paused, stroking his beard. “The Princess d’Orsay’s position may become precarious indeed if the prince decides to put her aside in the hopes of taking a wife young enough to give him a new heir of his body. The princess is well-known as a poisoner, and if she learns the truth of what has happened here…”

“I’ll protect her,” Kurt said.

“From assassins and brigands, yes, but poison? With respect, my child, you have already failed in that task once,” Petrus said, with a nod toward Constantin’s malichor-scarred face. “Would you forgive yourself if it happened a second time? Better not to have to worry about it at all.”

“How would they learn of it?” Siora asked. “This prince and princess are many months away, across the sea.”

“Every palace has ears,” replied Petrus. “If our young friend wakes and speaks the truth, someone will send word to Serene. Certainly not Lady de Morange or Sir de Courcillon, but a servant, an indiscreet guard, an unscrupulous courtier: there are many such in any palace, whose love of coin outweighs any greater principle.”

Siora was outraged. “She saved their lives. Are your people truly so ungrateful?”

“I’m afraid so,” Petrus replied sadly. “At least, some of them.”

Kurt looked down at de Sardet, then back to Petrus, and nodded. “Where will you take her, then?”

“To Vigyigidaw,” Dunncas spoke up. Several of the companions startled, turning to him; he had been so quiet that they had forgotten his presence. “I will tend to her.”

“We can say that she’s been badly wounded, and needs time to recover before being removed to New Serene,” said Petrus.

“What will we say happened here?” Vasco asked.

“Everyone on the island knows that Constantin was dying of the malichor. They know that he went into the wilderness with a native healer and returned claiming to have been cured of the malichor after being kidnapped by the High King and rescued by his much-adored cousin, but…” Petrus glanced down at Constantin’s body. “Perhaps the ritual didn’t work as well as he believed, and he came here, to the sanctuary, to attempt to use the native magics at the heart of the island’s power.”

Aphra nodded. “The ritual disrupted the island’s ecosystem, causing the attacks. We can say that the ritual unleashed a disease that resulted in the displacement of the native animals from their natural habitats while increasing their aggression.”

“I believe that the Mother Cardinal can be persuaded to agree that Constantin had no idea that the ritual would cause those attacks,” Petrus agreed. “Hopefully, Governor Burhan can be persuaded of the same. If these attacks were an unintended and unforeseen consequence of a native ritual, that would minimize any _casus belli_ that the Bridge Alliance or Theleme could have against the Congregation of Merchants.”

“Legate de Sardet saved us all,” Aphra said. “Governor Burhan should be thanking the Congregation.”

“Perhaps he will, with specific reference to her actions in helping weave together an alliance to stave off these vicious animal attacks,” Petrus replied. “The Mother Cardinal will certainly do so, especially as the survivors who fought here today owe their lives to her, and will make that clear to Her Eminence.” He spread his hands. “In any case, I doubt that either the Bridge Alliance or Theleme will use this as a pretext for war; given the casualties they have suffered in thwarting the Guard’s attempted coup and fending off these attacks, they will hardly be in a position to continue their war with each other, let alone to invite a war on two fronts.”

“They fought together today,” Vasco said. “That’s the first time in living memory that soldiers from the Bridge and Theleme have fought on the same side. Even after the battle, they were standing side by side outside the sanctuary.” 

Aphra snorted. “They were too tired to kill each other. Besides, the fighting is all back on Gacane; I doubt that this will change anything.”

“As do I,” Petrus admitted. “So long as we avert any new wars from beginning here, I believe we ought to be satisfied…as should the Congregation, if they are informed that their governor nearly began a two-front war through his own folly, but that it was averted thanks to the efforts of the legate.”

He looked back to Constantin. “As for the poor young governor, the ritual was not meant for foreigners. The magic overwhelmed him, and he was killed…or perhaps he died from the effects of the malichor when the ritual failed. The details may be unclear.” Petrus looked to Kurt. “How many of the Coin Guard saw Constantin after his return and…transformation?”

“Not many. After his return, the only members of the Guard he allowed in his presence were men who were part of his personal guard, and most of those died defending him. If any are alive, Sieglinde will order them to keep their silence.”

“Good,” said Petrus.

“Not as good as you’d think. He didn’t hesitate to let his courtiers see him, and he told every one of them that could hear that he was cured. Those fine lords won’t hesitate to talk.”

Petrus raised an eyebrow. “I will speak with Lady de Morange. She was removed from her post in part because the Prince d’Orsay feared the power she had accumulated here. I am sure she knows enough about most of those lords to… _persuade_ them that Constantin was deceived, or attempting to deceive them, and that the improvement in his condition was only temporary. Those same courtiers saw evidence of his incipient madness; she may well suggest that Lord d’Orsay’s madness was caused by his realization that he was not truly cured.”

“Why go to such effort to deny the cure?” Aphra asked. “You’re going to say he was killed by the ritual anyway, aren’t you?”

“The ritual, or the ritual’s effect on a body devastated by the malichor,” Petrus replied. “Ambiguity is often an asset in diplomacy, even when constructing a lie. This will prevent others from seeking more information on this ritual in the hopes of performing a cure; it may also prevent the prince from placing blame elsewhere in his grief. The malichor is a disease of the old world, striking high and low alike, inexorable in its progress: the Prince d’Orsay may mourn the loss of his son, but he will be less likely to blame anyone for it if his son was doomed anyway. Between malichor and madness, I hope it will be enough for the prince to refrain from attempting to place blame elsewhere.” 

“What of the body?” Vasco asked, nudging Constantin’s corpse with the tip of his boot.

“It cannot stay here,” said Siora. She had spent most of the conversation about _renaigse_ politics removing de Sardet’s armor, trying to get a better look at whatever injuries she might have sustained, but looked up in agitation at Vasco’s question. “This body would defile the sanctuary.”

“Nor can he be buried in the earth, whether in Dorhadgenedu or elsewhere on the island,” added Dunncas. “The malice of his spirit is gone, but he should not rest in the land he attempted to defile. Would your people not prefer to return his body to your own earth? We lay our own dead to rest with the bodies of their ancestors.”

Petrus nodded. “We are similar in that, at least,” he said. “In both Theleme and the Congregation, the dead are interred with their relations…well, at least those of Constantin’s rank. He ought to be returned to Serene in any case; his father will want to inter him with the rest of his family.” 

“I doubt the Prince d’Orsay will want to see his son’s body after it’s been stuffed in a wine cask for upwards of four months,” Vasco said.

“How do you think he would react seeing him now?” Aphra knelt, examining the branches that had grown from Constantin’s head. “I scarcely think he would understand.”

“Nor would he be likely to listen to a discourse on the transformation that occurs during native rituals,” Petrus said dryly. “I believe that returning the body to the Light may be best. Those branches ought to burn away, and both ash and bone can be returned more easily to Serene – and in a casket, which is rather more dignified than a wine cask.”

“That may be for the best,” Vasco agreed, and the others nodded.

Petrus looked around. “Once we leave this sanctuary, this is the truth of what happened here. It would be best if we did not speak of it again; certainly, never within the boundaries of any of our cities, and preferably not unless we are certain of being entirely alone.” He looked down at de Sardet with near-paternal concern. “I believe we all owe a great deal to Lady de Sardet. This is the least we can do.”

Each of them nodded their agreement. Kurt gathered her in his arms as he stood.

“Let us go,” Dunncas said. “It will be dark well before we reach my village.”

To their surprise, nearly all of the army was still waiting as they emerged from the sanctuary entrance: the wounded had been evacuated, but those who remained had lined the walls of the passage. They watched as the companions emerged with de Sardet; one by one, each faction offered a silent salute as she passed by.

Kurt carried her all the way down the slopes of Anemhaid, to where several wagons awaited, and together the companions traveled to Vedrad, to the village of Vigyididaw.


	3. Chapter Three

“Kurt, get some rest.”

Kurt, who sat next to the bed that held Alexandra de Sardet, didn’t move.

“Have you slept? Or even had that looked at?” Vasco eyed a long cut that disappeared beneath Kurt’s doublet.

When Kurt didn’t answer, Vasco sat next to him. “She’ll be all right. Siora says she’s got her share of bumps and bruises, and more than a few burns, but she’s not as badly hurt as you’d expect.” He eyed his shoulder. “You, on the other hand…”

“I’ll be fine.”

Vasco raised both eyebrows. “Now, why do I doubt that? Let Dunncas take a look at you, or Aphra if you’d prefer; I think she knows some little about dressing wounds. I’d offer you some help, but I’m afraid all I’d be able to do is give you a draught of rum.” He dangled a flask from his fingers.

“I’ll take it.” Kurt did, swallowing, then handing it back. “Thank you.”

“I mean it, Kurt. Go and sleep. You’re not the only one who cares about her, you know.”

“I know. Siora was here for hours. Then Petrus. Then Aphra.”

“Siora will be back once I leave.” Vasco pulled up a second chair. “I’ll get you as soon as she wakes, I promise.”

“As soon as she wakes,” Kurt said. His eyes didn’t leave de Sardet for a moment. “Not ‘if she wakes.’ Aphra—”

Vasco snorted. “She has a way with words, that one.” His eyes followed Kurt’s. “She’ll wake – and when she does, you’ll be there, I promise. But you can’t stay awake for days, and you’re not going to do anyone any good if that wound turns.”

“I shouldn’t have left her.”

“And if you hadn’t? You saw that creature. Larger than any we’ve ever faced, and more dangerous. Constantin might have hesitated to kill her, but he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you, or me, or any of us. She was the only one who could have walked into that sanctuary and come out again, and she knew it.”

“I swore I’d protect them. I swore I’d protect them both.” Kurt shook his head. “But Constantin was a dead man before I ever got off your ship – and she would have been dead too, if her tie to the island hadn’t protected her.”

“What would you have done? Even if you’d employed a taster, it wasn’t as if the poison worked immediately. It took weeks before he discovered he was infected. It isn’t as if you could have known that a doctor from the Bridge Alliance would seek to poison the Prince d’Orsay’s son and niece the moment they set foot on Teer Fradee.”

“They were my responsibility.”

“You couldn’t protect them from everything. The best thing you could do was teach them how to defend themselves, and that you did.” Vasco took a draught from the flask and passed it back. “Do you remember the first day you came aboard my ship?”

Kurt cracked a smile. “Your boat?” he said, emphasizing the word. “I don’t think you let her forget that the entire voyage.”

Vasco smiled. “Practically the first thing she asked when we made landfall was if I was still mad at her for calling my ship a boat. She didn’t realize how much I resented her – resented them both, really. All I could see was two nobles who were living the life I thought was stolen from me.”

Kurt snorted. “Lord d’Arcy.”

Vasco chose to ignore the use of his birth name. “I didn’t know then that she’d had two lives stolen from her: her life as a native here, and her life as a Naut, a sea-born. Back then, all I knew was that she was a fine lady of the Congregation, and I was dreaming about what my life would have been like if I’d been raised by some great lord. We must have been at sea for a month or two before I started to realize that she wasn’t like the other great nobles I’d ferried about.”

He took another long sip from the flask. “Constantin wasn’t, either. At least, not then, not entirely. Oh, there were times that he reminded me: he’d get drunk and start trouble with the crew, or start talking in a way that told you he’d never met a problem that a bag of gold couldn’t solve, or act like a boy half his age, spinning stories about what he’d do when he ruled his city.” Kurt nodded; both men had borne significantly more responsibility and seen more hardships by sixteen than Constantin had at twenty-six. “But he had his charms. I’ll admit, I was taken with him – with them both, really. But at the time, I never imagined I’d be grounded when we reached Teer Fradee, and she didn’t seem the sort to want a fleeting moment’s pleasure.”

“Besides, it seemed to me then that she was interested in someone else. Even if you were too busy trying not to notice.” Even after they’d made landfall, Vasco had felt some measure of attraction toward the legate, all the more so after discovering that her situation was a mirror to his: de Sardet was a sea-born stolen from the Nauts to become a noblewoman of the Congregation of Merchants, while Vasco had been a sea-given taken from a noble family of the same country. But his interest had initially been hindered by his envy, and by the time he’d resolved those feelings of jealousy, he’d seen de Sardet’s interest was elsewhere.

In truth, his disappointment had been fleeting: he’d concluded that it was best not to be romantically involved with someone whose responsibilities would keep her bound to shore. Vasco was a Naut at heart, and he wanted to remain free to answer the call of the sea; de Sardet had become a dear friend, and as a fellow Naut he even considered her to be part of his family, but he couldn’t imagine agreeing to remain permanently land-locked for anyone.

“They were both charming, in their own way,” said Vasco. “Lady de Sardet and Lord d’Orsay, neither quite like any noble I’d ever met. Most nobles don’t look twice at people like us; from time to time, they might deign to notice us, but they never care about us. She was different: she was honest about her aims, and more than willing to help, even when she didn’t know me.”

“She’s always had a good heart,” Kurt agreed.

“Constantin was different, too – though in a different way. I’d never seen a noble who laughed quite so freely, or who took an interest in everything the way he did. I’ll always remember the way he was when he came aboard, shouting and laughing, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Alexandra was happy, too, but she was quiet; he was ecstatic, like he’d had the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders.” 

“Leaving Serene was good for all of us. The city was a hornet’s nest, and neither of them were like to thrive in it.” Kurt looked down at de Sardet. “That voyage changed everything,” he agreed. “Back in Serene, I was her master-at-arms. I taught her, and I protected her, and that was all.” His jaw worked. “She was just a kid when I was assigned to the posting.”

“When did you start to see her as something more?”

Kurt reacted instantly; the sheer force of his anger startled Vasco. “Never,” he snarled. “The whole time we were in Serene, she was my charge. I taught her how to fight, protected her from the prince’s enemies. Do you think I would have taken advantage of her? I’d sooner have put my own pistol under my chin and pulled the trigger.”

He shook his head. “While we were in Serene? I _never_ saw her as anything more than my charge,” he repeated. “If we’d stayed in Serene, I don’t think I ever would have.”

“Because she was a noble?”

“Is a noble,” said Kurt, and looked down at her for a long moment before answering. “In part, I suppose,” he said finally. “But more because I never even thought of it until we were on the ship here.”

“In Serene, I was always with them, but in the shadows – and with His Highness more than Green Blood, since he was the heir – though they were most always together. Sometimes she acted as if she was his bodyguard.” That brought a moment’s silence, as both men thought of the way they’d found de Sardet, sprawled unconscious next to her cousin’s body, as close as they could be without touching. “I spent my time watching for threats; that doesn’t leave much time for friendship. Even if it had, they were nobles, and I was no one, just the son of two soldiers who died on the field, and who didn’t have time for a child before that.” The words were spoken matter-of-factly, without a trace of self-pity.

“But on the ship, there weren’t any threats. Nothing to worry about, nothing to defend against. No scheming lords and ladies, no assassins lurking in the shadows, no rioters who might break through the palace gates. Just us.” Kurt shook his head. “That’s when I started to see the young lady she’d become. Once we were on the island together, traveling the roads, fighting side by side, making camp, talking…” His voice trailed off. “It was a side of her I’d never seen before. By the time we found out what had happened to Reiner, I knew how I felt, even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself.”

“Why not?” Vasco handed Kurt the flask, knowing he might need it: what had happened to Reiner was still painful for him to mention. 

“I didn’t think it was possible. I was still a member of the Guard, and she was still Lady de Sardet – and what would a woman like her want with a man like me? Too old, too rough, too poor—”

Vasco laughed. “You act like you’re Bishop Petrus’s age. You’re not old enough to be her father – not half that old. What’s the difference in your ages? Five years? Ten?” When Kurt nodded, he laughed again. “Nobles do things differently. My birth parents, Lord and Lady d’Arcy, wed when he was forty-eight and she was eighteen. There’s more than fifteen years between the Prince d’Orsay and his second wife. Ten years is nothing – at least, not at twenty-five and thirty-five,” Vasco amended, seeing the look in Kurt’s eyes. “And you’re a better man than any of the nobles the Prince d’Orsay might have found for her.”

“You should have seen the fop who first caught her eye when she was fifteen. He was ridiculous. If I’d known then what he’d said to her, I would have—” Kurt broke off abruptly; looking down at de Sardet, he gently brushed a hand against the green birthmark on the side of her face. “She deserved better than that. She deserves better than me, for that matter.”

“She doesn’t feel that way,” Vasco pointed out, just as the flask slipped from Kurt’s hand, his eyelids fluttering shut as he slumped over in his chair. Vasco stood, then stooped to pick up the flask before turning to look at the doorway. “He’s out,” he said.

Siora, Aphra, and Petrus appeared. “Bravo,” said Aphra.

“He’s going to kill me when he wakes, you know.”

“He should have realized. It isn’t the first time you’ve slipped a sleeping potion into someone’s drink,” Aphra pointed out.

Vasco brushed his mouth with the back of his hand, then spat. “I don’t think I swallowed any.”

“Good. Someone has to stay to look after de Sardet, and the rest of us have already had our turns,” said Aphra. 

Siora was already tugging off Kurt’s doublet: in addition to a number of long scratches, his right side was almost entirely black and blue. “He was very brave, to carry her for so long with such wounds.”

“And very stupid, to wait for so long before having them looked at.” Aphra’s own arm was in a sling, one of the healers having discovered a hairline fracture. “Vasco could have carried her down that mountain, for that matter. Or we could have gotten a stretcher.”

“He is her _minundhanem_ ,” Siora replied simply. She looked down at de Sardet. “She will want him here when she wakes.”

“As he will be,” said Petrus. “Dunncas assures me that she will sleep for some time – and when she wakes, we will all be here with her.”


	4. Chapter Four

Alexandra de Sardet opened her eyes, feeling a vague sense of déjà vu. “Kurt?” she asked groggily. She remembered being on the floor of the sanctuary in Anemhaid, staring up at the roof of the cavern as pieces of the earth floated around her. She knew she had been alone, but somehow she remembered Kurt holding her close, and hearing the voices of those she loved most.

“Sweet Excellency,” said Kurt, leaning forward with a look of relief. He took one of her hands in his. “I’m here.”

“You’re hurt,” she said, seeing the bandage around his shoulder, and another large bruise that was just visible above the neck of his doublet. There was a new cut on his chin next to an older scar, and a small gouge just beneath one eye.

“I’m fine,” he reassured her. “We’re all fine. Siora has a few scrapes, Aphra has a broken arm, Vasco will have a scar on his calf from where a _tenlan_ clawed him, and Petrus has a fine cut under one eye, but no one suffered anything worse than that. We’ll all recover.” He squeezed her hand.

Again, she thought she vaguely remembered the conversation, or something like it. “Constantin,” she murmured, and only then did the memories of her cousin overwhelm her: she remembered the look in his eyes, and the dagger, and the way his last breath had sounded as he’d let go.

Tears filled her eyes. “I killed him. Kurt…”

She sat up, ignoring the shooting pain in her ribs as she did, and Kurt moved to help her; as he reached forward, she embraced him, holding him tightly. She felt him flinch as she accidentally pressed too hard against a bruise she hadn’t seen, and she started to pull back, but he put his arms around her and pulled her closer.

“I know,” he murmured, but she barely heard.

“I made it to the sanctuary. He was there, with the _nadaig baro_. The ritual was almost done. I fought the _nadaig_ _baro,_ but I couldn’t have defeated it. Constantin knew that.” Her voice became a sob. “He ordered it to stop. He wanted me to join him. He told me that if I bound myself to him, we would be gods forever, together.”

Kurt held her, stroking her hair, as she cried. “I should have been with you,” he murmured. “I should have been the one to do it. Not you. Never you.”

“He would have killed you. He would have killed anyone else. I had to go alone. It had to be me, I had to do it, I couldn’t let him—”

“I know.” He held her, and she closed her eyes, pressing her face into his shoulder, remembering the last time she had done so, on the slopes of Anemhaid. He had kissed her passionately, and they had held onto each other for as long as they could, each afraid to let go.

_Will I ever see you again?_ Kurt had asked.

_I don’t know,_ she had answered. He had leaned in once more as if to kiss her, but had stopped himself. _I think he knew that if he had, I wouldn’t have been able to leave._

_Go,_ he’d told her, and she had gone, continuing her ascent with Petrus, Vasco, and Siora.

This time, when she opened her eyes and let go of Kurt, she realized all the others were there, gathered around her bed: Petrus and Aphra, Vasco and Siora. “Where are we?”

“Vigyigidaw,” said Aphra. “Dunncas has been looking after you.” She realized then how much she ached: despite the protection that her armor and her magic had provided, the fight with the _nadaig baro_ had left her both burned and bruised. “You haven’t broken anything, at least, and none of the burns are deep.”

“You can take your time recovering here,” said Petrus. “You won’t have to return to New Serene until you’re ready.”

_New Serene,_ she thought. The last time she had visited the city, it had been to investigate Constantin’s office. She remembered the hideaway it had led to outside the city, and the horrific realization of what he had planned.

“I can’t…” she managed, then started to cry once more. “He was my cousin. Even when we found out that I wasn’t…” She was crying so hard she couldn’t breathe. “After the ritual, he was so happy that he was _on ol menawi_ , like me…”

She knew that the others knew what Constantin had meant to her: Petrus, who had seen them chasing each other through the palace as children; Kurt, who’d trained and followed both of them; Siora, who’d helped her in her desperate search for a cure; Aphra, who’d helped her find justice for the man who’d poisoned him. “I would have given anything to save him, and I…I…” _I killed him._ In her memory, Constantin died again.

“ _Carants_ ,” Siora said, sitting on her bedside. “I am sorry. I wish I could have been by your side. I wish there could have been another way.”

“He held his hand out to me. He _trusted_ me. Even afterwards, he could have commanded the _nadaig baro_ to kill me, but he didn’t.” Constantin hadn’t died cursing her name or spitting fury; it might have been easier if he had.

Instead, she remembered the disappointment in his eyes, the sadness. _Another betrayal, from the one person in the world he trusted would never betray him._

“How can I live with myself?” she demanded. “How can I live…”

“Enough,” said Dunncas. The High King of Teer Fradee entered the room, carrying a bowl of medicine in his hands. “Out, all of you.” Kurt looked as if he was going to protest, but the High King stopped at his side. “I will care for her. You will not help her by staying. Out.”

De Sardet found that she believed him, or that she wanted to, but she knew that Dunncas was speaking of bruises and burns, and it wasn’t her body that was broken.

The first messenger arrived the next day.

“Bishop Petrus,” said the messenger. “The Mother Cardinal summons you to San Matheus. She wishes to speak with you regarding the events at Dorhadgenedu.”

Petrus went, if reluctantly; he was still a bishop of Theleme, and could not disobey a summons from the Mother Cardinal. Vasco was next: Admiral Cabral had received confused reports from the other Nauts present, including Fernando, and wanted a report from the captain she knew was most likely to have answers. An emissary from Hikmet came the following morning, demanding Aphra’s presence: she was neither a diplomat nor a courtier, and her reply was anything but diplomatic, but she went.

Kurt’s response when Commander Sieglinde sent a major to order him away was even less friendly than Aphra’s, but the message that Major Mathilde had delivered was short and to the point: he was captain of the guard for New Serene, and it was his duty to return to that city, to take stock of the situation there and organize what remained of the guard. He might have standing orders for the protection of Alexandra de Sardet, but the orders from his commander superseded those: he was to report immediately to New Serene with Governor d’Orsay’s body.

He went, but only after de Sardet urged him to go. “Take him home,” she said. “For me. Please.”

Siora remained, concerned. Her _carants_ had survived, but seemed lost in a haze of grief and guilt. Alexandra de Sardet slept frequently, but when awake, her gaze was always distant, her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, and she seemed utterly consumed by sadness. Siora had lost her mother, and knew what it was to grieve, but her own grief had been tempered with fury toward the lions who had killed her; de Sardet’s grief was tinged only with guilt, for Siora knew she blamed herself for the loss of the cousin she had loved so dearly. 

Of all her companions, Siora had known the least of Constantin, and viewed him least favorably: he had treated her with respect when she had visited the palace, and she had been glad of his initial offer of aid when she had asked for it, but she had interacted with him only rarely after that first meeting. Her memories of Constantin d’Orsay were strongly colored by the man he had become after Vinbarr had attempted to kill him, and she had a difficult time feeling any sorrow for the _renaigse_ who had sought to murder her god.

De Sardet seemed to remember that, and whenever Siora saw her, began to speak of the boy he’d been, beginning with their childhood in Serene. “He could be cruel to the other children, but he was always kind to me. We looked out for each other.”

The stories spilled out of her then: Constantin mocking their new master-at-arms until he handed him a sword and proceeded to disarm him a dozen different ways; Constantin scaling the walls of Serene, convinced that he would prove his father wrong; Constantin convincing her to explore a sealed-off wing of the palace, only to get stuck in a dumbwaiter; Constantin placing a mixture of ragweed and poison ivy into the bedding of a girl who’d been a particular torment to his beloved cousin. Siora noticed that Constantin’s kindness to his cousin was sometimes leavened by cruelty towards others, though mostly those cruelties were simply those of a boy repaying taunts or jibes in kind; even so, she couldn’t help but think that her _carants_ failed to notice that tendency in him, or was too willing to overlook it because of his kindness toward her.

_She speaks so often of his kindness to her, his tenderness._ His worst qualities were never directed toward his cousin; he might be cruel or capricious, but never to her. Because of that, de Sardet seemed willing to forgive him anything; sometimes, she even seemed blind to the idea that he might have needed forgiveness.

“He always sought to protect me. We protected each other. Siora, what have I done?”

_She speaks of how he was her_ carants _, and she his, but she does not see that this closeness kept her from growing close to others. They were like two trees planted too closely together: he towered over her, blocking the sun, his roots choking hers._ It was a thought that Siora did not share with her _carants_ , knowing that de Sardet was not ready to hear it; instead, she let her talk, hoping that it would help her come to the realization on her own.

De Sardet told her of the young man Constantin had become: ignored by his mother, despised by his father, always striving to gain their attention and regard. “By the time he turned twenty, he’d given up trying to please them. He would go out into taverns, get drunk, disguise himself and get lost in the city…”

“Would you go with him?”

“I tried to look after him, but he never wanted it. He would slip out on his own, as if he were ashamed…perhaps he was. The number of times I had to slip out to find him, or pay off an angry tavern-keeper, or drag him out of a brothel…he was always apologetic, and usually very hungover, but he kept doing it. I think that it was his way of getting back at his father.” De Sardet gave a heavy sigh. “He said that his father had already decided he was a failure, so he might as well prove him right.”

“Teer Fradee was going to be a new start. He spoke of it so often on our way here. His plans for the city, how he would return home as the most successful governor the island had ever seen, how he would surprise everyone…” Again, de Sardet broke down.

Siora thought of her own sister, Eseld, and how different the world they knew was from the one where Constantin d’Orsay and Alexandra de Sardet had grown up. _Our parents loved us._ The Princess de Sardet had certainly loved her own daughter, that much was clear from de Sardet’s stories, but the Prince d’Orsay was a man of terrible cruelty and cold calculation. _What sort of parent views their child as a tool, valuable only so far as they are useful? Did he send him here in the hopes of sharpening that tool, or in order to discard him?_ That way of thinking was so alien to Siora that she could not fathom the prince’s reasoning. 

“Constantin did not deserve what happened to him. I should have been able to find a way to save him. There must have been a way.”

“There was no way,” Siora insisted. “If you had not stopped him, he would have killed _en on mil frichtimen_.” 

“He wanted me to link with him. He said that we would share the island’s power, that we would both be as gods. If I had agreed with him…could I have convinced him? Would it have been enough? If I had shared his power, shared his mind, could I have turned him away from that path?”

“No,” Siora said.

“Dunncas told me that he saw the colonists as unruly children. ‘They take what they want and break the things they own. But who would kill unruly children for being mischievous?’” De Sardet looked down at her hands, positioning them as if grasping an invisible knife. “Oh, Constantin—”

That night, Siora relayed her words to Dunncas. “She still believes there was a way she could have saved her cousin and this island.”

Dunncas shook his head sadly. “There was no other way. The cousin she knew was dead long before he entered the sanctuary.”

“She spoke of what you had said about the _renaigse_ ,” said Siora.

“Unruly children, yes. The cousin she knew, this Constantin, he was such a one. Seeking always to have his own way, always thinking of himself.” Dunncas paused. “I have heard the stories she tells you. She loved him very much.”

“And he her,” Siora agreed.

“Did he? It was a selfish love, a child’s love, always focused on himself. You say that he always spoke of _his_ fair cousin, _his_ adorable cousin, always _his_ : always taking, never giving, never asking what she might want. All her life, she has looked after him, but when did he ever do the same – and if he did, was it the sort of selfless protection offered by the _on ol menawi_ , or was it the protection of a man guarding what he believes to be his?”

“I am sure he cared for her,” Siora said stubbornly. “He was always worried.” She paused. “He would have offered to share his power with her.”

“Such power cannot be shared,” Dunncas replied. “He was the death-bringer. He would have brought death to us all, and to her as well.” He paused, looking grave. “The man she killed in the heart of the mountain was not the cousin she had known. He died slowly: by the malichor, yes, and through Catasach’s ritual and Vinbarr’s kidnapping and his own corruption. He was not an unruly child, but the death-bringer, what Vinbarr feared he would become.”

Dunncas shook his head. “Could he have been saved? I do not know how. But I know that the _on ol menawi_ could not have done it. By the time she faced him in Credhenes, he was long dead, and the death-bringer only wore his face.”

“She will not believe you.”

Dunncas bowed his head. “I fear you are right, and that is the greatest wound she yet bears. I do not think it will heal, not without some other cure.” He paused. “There is a ritual, but it is not without its own dangers.”

“Dangers? To her, or to our island?”

“To her,” Dunncas said; he had heard the worry in Siora’s voice. “I would not repeat Catasach’s mistake. This is an ancient ritual, though usually offered only to a _mal_ , and only those who have undergone the trials.” 

“The trials?”

“Yes,” Dunncas said gravely. “To undergo the ritual, she must return to Dorhadgenedu, to speak with _en on mil frichtimen_ , in the sanctuary within the heart of the mountain.”

Siora looked at him with horror. “She would have to go back into Anemhaid? To Credhenes, where she killed him?”

Dunncas nodded. “The ceremony is not without risk,” he repeated. “But it may be the best way – the only way for to heal, in mind and heart as well as in body.”


	5. Chapter 5

By the time that de Sardet’s other companions began to return, her bruises were fading from blues and purples into paler greens and yellows; some had vanished entirely. Physically, she was mending, but Siora knew that her mind was still enveloped in grief.

_In her heart, she still blames herself._ Siora knew what it was to feel guilt over a loved one’s death: Eseld had since apologized for the accusations she had flung at her, but Siora herself still wondered at times if her mother might still be alive if she had been present at the Battle of the Red Spears.

Siora had come to terms with her own guilt, but de Sardet’s was far more consuming: she spent much of her time reliving the events of the last weeks that had led to Constantin’s death, all her actions from the moment that she’d discovered he was dying to the moment she’d collapsed at his side.

“Was it Catasach’s ritual that sent him into madness, or Vinbarr’s kidnapping? What was Vinbarr attempting to do when we found him? He had encased Constantin in a stone prison, but I still don’t understand what he was trying to do. If he had only wanted to kill him, he could have done that when he killed Catasach.” 

Siora had not known, but Dunncas had. “Vinbarr wanted to sever Constantin’s link with the island. Catasach cured your cousin of this malichor by performing the ritual to make him _on ol menawi_ , but those who become one with the land must give as well as take; they agree to protect the land, to share in its power, and to give of themselves. He felt the power of the land, but he wanted only to claim it for himself. _En on mil frichtimen_ felt that, and gave Vinbarr visions of what would come to pass.”

Siora had been horrified. “You can sever the link once it has been created? You can break the bond that an _on ol menawi_ has to their land?”

“You know that we can do this, Siora. You yourself helped the _on ol menawi_ plant the seeds that severed some of Constantin’s bonds.” Dunncas paused. “But what Vinbarr did went farther than that. He used another ritual, one that cuts even more deeply. It is a secret known only to the High King, a gift of knowledge from _en on mil frichtimen_. It carries great risk, and is used but rarely, for those who have committed the greatest of crimes,” he said gravely.

“Our people have only ever used it as a punishment for those _on ol menawi_ who misused the gifts of _en on mil frichtimen_. It is why the journey to become _on ol menawi_ is so long, and why some of those who would seek the gift are never given it.” Again, Dunncas paused. “The ritual of the stone prison not only breaks all links that an _on ol menawi_ has with their land, it prevents them from ever restoring them. It cuts more deeply than pulling down the stone that was used in the binding ritual; it prevents them from taking anything from the earth, from drawing on its strength, even from hearing the call of _en on mil frichtimen_.”

“Those who survive the ritual can no longer bond to any part of the earth; they are truly alone, outcast. More often than not, the ritual kills the one who was once _on ol menawi_. It was only ever used for those who were called death-bringers, whose actions would have led to the death of the island itself.”

“If Constantin had survived it, would he still have been cured?”

“I do not know. Your young friend thought himself cured, but it was the life of the island itself that sustained his own. If the link had been severed, would the poison of the malichor have returned? I do not think anyone can say. But, frail as he was, I do not think he would have survived Vinbarr’s rite.”

“You said that Vinbarr received visions from _en on mil frichtimen_ , telling him what Constantin would do. But how could it know? You are saying that _en on mil frichtimen_ can see the future?”

“The present is a seed, from which many futures can grow, like branches from a tree,” Dunncas replied. “ _En on mil frichtimen_ can see those branches. It does not know what is to come, only what might be. When it felt the _renaigse_ reach for its power, it saw the disaster that would follow, and reached out to Vinbarr for help.”

“I could not have let Vinbarr complete his ritual. I could not let him kill Constantin,” de Sardet said.

“I fear your cousin was doomed from the moment that the lions’ _doneigad_ poisoned him,” Dunncas replied gravely. “Catasach’s ritual made him a death-bringer.”

“Because he was _renaigse_?” Siora asked. “He was not of this land.”

“I do not know,” Dunncas replied. “No _renaigse_ has ever sought to become _on ol menawi_. Perhaps with sufficient preparation, if he had sought to become _on ol menawi_ for reasons beyond grasping selfishness—”

“He was dying,” de Sardet burst in. “He would have done anything to live. I would have done anything to save him.”

“No,” Dunncas replied. “You would not have sacrificed others. You did not. To save himself, Constantin was willing to kill many innocents.”

Siora thought of the dead at the outposts of San Matheus and Hikmet, of the exiled woman and her children who would have been killed for the mere crime of glimpsing Constantin on his nightly journeys, of all those who had died on the slopes of Anemhaid.

“That wasn’t Constantin,” de Sardet said desperately. “He had been twisted…changed.”

“By the fear of death,” Dunncas said gravely. “This malichor poisoned his soul as well as his body.”

“No,” de Sardet said desperately. “Yes. I don’t know. He had been through so much, so quickly. The discovery of his infection, the attempted coup, learning of Doctor Asili’s actions, the failures of the healers of San Matheus and Hikmet, Catasach’s ritual, Vinbarr’s kidnapping…something must have happened to him then, during Catasach’s ritual, or Vinbarr’s.” She shook her head. “If only I had returned before Catasach took him to perform the ritual.”

“What would you have done? You had no way of knowing.”

“I don’t know,” de Sardet said desperately. “There must have been some way to save him. Some way to change everything.” As always, de Sardet returned to the last moment she had spent with Constantin. “He asked me to bind myself to him. To join him. I couldn’t reason with him, not with words, but if I had…”

“You would have lost yourself, and doomed us all.” Dunncas spoke with absolute certainty.

“You don’t understand. Constantin was my oldest friend. Until we came to Teer Fradee, he was my only friend. We were always together. If I had accepted him, if I had linked myself to him, maybe I could have made him understand.”

“No,” said Dunncas. “This would not have been possible. You must accept that.”

“How can I accept that? How can I ever be certain?” De Sardet had broken down. “He died with his hand outstretched to me in friendship, asking me to join him, certain that I would never betray him. He had the power to kill me at any moment, but he trusted me. If our places had been exchanged, he would never have killed me, and I…I…” Tears dripped from her cheeks as she struggled to form the words. “I killed him. I had saved him from the walls of Serene and from bandits and from Vinbarr, but I will never know if I could have saved him again.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was so frightened. I thought it was the only way. I knew I would never convince him, and I thought of you, Siora, and of Kurt, and of Vasco and Aphra and Petrus and all those who’d brought me there, and I thought I had to do it to save you, to save us all…but what if I didn’t?”

“What if you could know?” Dunncas asked. “If you could see what would have happened had you joined your cousin, would it set your mind at rest?”

De Sardet looked at him in disbelief.

“There is a ritual. _En on mil frichtimen_ is the god of a thousand faces; it has lived a thousand lifetimes, and its roots are deep. It knows the past, like roots extending through the earth, and it knows what futures may come to pass, all the branches that may grow from the tree. If you return to Credhenes, it can show you the greatest choice you have ever made, and what would have come to pass had you chosen otherwise.”

“How can I be certain that the vision is true?”

“You have had other visions. Did you doubt those? You know the vision it gave Vinbarr was true. I too have had visions from _en on mil frichtimen_. I know that he does not lie.”

An aching hope came into de Sardet’s eyes then, mingled with fear. “What if it shows me that I could have saved him? What I made the wrong choice?”

“Then you will have to live with it,” Dunncas replied. “But knowing is better than not knowing. Even now, the uncertainty tears at your heart like the claws of a _vaileg_. So long as you doubt, your wounds will not heal.”

“I know it will be difficult for you to return to the sanctuary. It may be harder still to see the visions which _en on mil frichtimen_ may show you. But if this is your wish, I will ask it of the god.”

De Sardet nodded. “Please.”

“I will go with you,” Siora declared. She looked to Dunncas. “She cannot return there alone.”

“If you go with her, you will also have to undergo the ritual,” Dunncas warned.

“I do not care. She is my _carants_. I will not leave her side.”

“It will take preparation,” Dunncas warned. “I must leave for Dorhadgenedu, to ask this of _en on mil frichtimen_. When I return, you will go with me.”

By the time that Dunncas had returned, all four of de Sardet’s other companions had returned to Vigyigidaw. All were worried about de Sardet’s condition. “She looks no better than she did before,” Petrus worried.

“She killed her best friend,” said Aphra. “Did you think she’d be fine?”

Siora explained the ritual to them. “I will go with her.”

“Back to the mountain?” Kurt demanded. “That’ll destroy her.”

“Dunncas believes that until she returns, she will not be able to heal.”

“She can’t forgive herself,” said Vasco. “I’ve seen what guilt does to a person. It killed the first captain I ever sailed with, a fine man.” He paused, remembering. “We were near Lacillion, in Theleme. The coast there is rocky, and it’s dangerous to sail too close to shore. But we were running behind schedule, and he thought that a closer route would save our cargo from spoiling. The first mate tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted, and gave the command. The ship nearly ran aground on some rocks; as it was, he tore a hole in the side of the ship, and we started taking on water. The first and second mates both perished before we made it back to port.”

“Captain Tomas never forgave himself. They would have brought him before the admiral’s mast when we returned to our island, but he hanged himself before the inquiry. The guilt ate away at him from the inside.” Vasco shook his head. “It was a shame. He was a good man. I wouldn’t want to see de Sardet go the same way. If Dunncas thinks this will help—”

“It will,” Siora said fiercely. “It must.”

“If she has to go back to that mountain, I’m going with her,” Kurt said. “I won’t leave her again.”

“Nor will I. De Sardet has been a good friend to me; I won’t abandon her,” Vasco added.

“None of us will,” Aphra agreed. “If she’s going, we all are.” 

Petrus hesitated. “What does this ritual entail? Is it safe for non-natives? Constantin’s exposure to Catasach’s ritual—”

“This ritual will not make you into _on ol menawi_ ,” Dunncas said. “It does not bind you to the earth, or connect you in the same way. This ritual is safe for _renaigse_.”

“How do you know? Have any non-natives ever undergone this ritual?”

“Yes.”

“How is that possible?” Siora asked.

“I asked that question of _en on mil frichtimen_. I knew that her _caranten_ would not wish for her to go alone.” Dunncas’s gaze drifted back to Petrus. “ _En on mil frichtimen_ granted me a vision of a man from very long ago. I believe it was the one you call Saint Matheus. High Queen Moire took him to _en on mil frichtimen_ herself, and he returned without injury.” He looked around at each of the companions. “You may accompany her if you wish. I am certain she will be glad of having her _carants_ at her side, and her _minundhanem_. But I warn you: this ritual has driven others to despair or madness, and what has been seen cannot be unseen. The danger is not to the island, but to yourselves.”

“What is the danger?” Kurt asked.

“This ritual will show you the greatest choice of your life. It will show you what would have happened, had you chosen differently. Some cannot bear this: they break with regret, or with the knowing of what would have been. Others see, and are reassured in knowing that their path was the best way, or the only way.”

“You believe that Lady de Sardet will see that her decision was the correct one,” Petrus mused.

Dunncas nodded. “Until she has seen, she will always believe that she has chosen wrongly. She will always believe she had a choice that did not exist.” He shook his head. “Even now, she believes that she could have saved both her cousin and this island. She must learn this is not true.”

“And she must do this in the heart of the mountain. There’s no other way,” said Kurt.

Dunncas nodded.

“I’m going with her.”

“As am I,” said Siora. 

“I believe we just established that we would all go with her,” said Aphra. “She has been there for all of us in our time of need. Only a coward would leave her now.”

“Some would say that it is not cowardice that would turn a person from this path, but wisdom,” Dunncas replied. “It is not cowardly for a child to flee from an _andrig_ , or for an unarmed man to avoid a nest of _yorglan_.”

“But you would send de Sardet on this journey,” Aphra protested.

“Some journeys must be taken. It is not cowardice to avoid a herd of _andrig_ , but if the herd lies in your path, you must find a way around them if you wish to continue on your journey. If de Sardet wishes to continue on hers, I believe she must face this test.” Dunncas paused. “However, only you can judge whether or not it would be cowardice or wisdom to stay behind.”

“Some storms must be braved, if we’re to find calmer waters,” said Vasco. “We’re going.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

De Sardet looked up to see Kurt entering, alone. “I have to,” she said. “I think it’s the only way.” But she knew her doubt colored her voice; even now, she didn’t believe Dunncas’s words.

_I killed him,_ she thought, and in her mind, Constantin extended his hand to her, looking at her with same trust he’d exhibited the day she’d brought him down from the ramparts of Serene. _He trusted me, and I killed him, and I don’t know that_ en on mil frichtimen _will be able to show me anything that will let me forget that, or forgive myself for doing it._

Kurt saw her eyes fill with tears. “Green Blood,” he said, and even the familiar nickname hurt; it was a reminder of their days together in Serene, of when Constantin had been alive, when they had been inseparable. “It wasn’t your fault. You have to know that.”

“How could it not be my fault? I killed him.”

“He left you no choice. He would have killed us all and destroyed this island.”

“If I’d joined with him, perhaps I could have swayed him.”

“He was mad.”

“Everyone says that.” She rubbed at her eyes with the back of one hand. “Yesterday, Aphra tried to argue with me for over an hour. She had a dozen reasons that he couldn’t have been dissuaded. Reason, logic, every point was ordered and rational, but…”

“Your heart tells you differently.”

De Sardet looked up, surprised, and nodded through her tears. “There had to have been another way.”

Kurt was silent for a long moment. “Sometimes, there isn’t,” he said finally. “Sometimes, there are only two choices, and you do what you have to, no matter how much it hurts.”

Lost in her own haze of grief, it took her a moment to realize what he was speaking of, but the realization dawned. “The coup,” she said.

Kurt gave her the smallest of nods. “I know what it’s like to make that choice – to have two loyalties you can’t reconcile, and to have to choose between honor and dishonor, the life you’d known and the life you’ve just begun to lead.” Gently, he brushed the tears from her face, then looked her in the eye. “We made the same choice. My sweet Excellency.”

_My dear cousin._ She almost heard Constantin’s voice whispering in her mind then, the memory of his death as fresh as it had been when she had first collapsed at his side. “But we didn’t, did we? You chose me, but I didn’t choose Constantin.”

“When Torsten gave you your orders, you had to choose between saving me and obeying him. On one side, you had your loyalty to the Coin Guard, your duty to them, your friendships with your comrades…and on the other, your loyalty to me and Constantin, and your love for us. You chose us, but I didn’t choose Constantin.”

“We both made the honorable choice,” said Kurt. “Constantin had killed innocents, the same way Torsten would have. Constantin would have asked you to betray all of us, the way Torsten ordered me to betray you.”

“I couldn’t,” she blurted. “I loved Constantin, but I couldn’t betray you. He was a brother to me, but you…” De Sardet reached out, and Kurt held her tightly as she buried her head against his shoulder. She could still feel the bandages beneath. “I loved you too much. I couldn’t betray you. I couldn’t leave you alone.”

“And to think, he offered you godhood,” Kurt murmured. As she relaxed her grip on him, he tried to make a joke of it. “Torsten didn’t offer me so much as a promotion.”

When she didn’t smile, he said, “We made the same decision. Torsten would have had me dishonor myself. He wanted to rule this island – wanted power, the same way Constantin did. And to get it, he would have had you throw away all your other friendships, the life you’d built away from him, everything in life that ever meant anything to you. He wanted you to disregard everything you wanted, in order to do what he wanted; he would have had you put your head down, grit your teeth, and obey orders, the same way Torsten expected me to.”

“He thought I would want to join him,” she said. “Even after everything he’d done, even knowing that he was planning to kill everyone outside…he thought I’d abandon you without a second thought. He trusted me, in a way that Torsten never trusted you.”

“I know, and that made it harder for you. Not only that, but you cared for people on both sides. The day of the coup, Torsten had packed this palace with his own supporters; he didn’t ask me to kill Sieglinde and Manfred. I know Constantin meant more to you than any of the guards we killed that day…and I know that it wasn’t easy for me to take up arms against them, even then.”

De Sardet had spoken to Kurt about the coup before; she knew that he’d known some of the men they’d killed, though he hadn’t been close to any of them.

“That choice…it defines who you are. I know that. It was easier for me, because I knew that I couldn’t betray you.”

“What if protecting me hadn’t been the honorable choice? What if I’d been dishonorable? What if I’d gone mad?”

“If Constantin could have known what he’d become, I think he would have asked you to stop him. If he’d understood…”

_What a shame,_ she heard Constantin breathe. Aloud, she said, “Torsten asked you to do your duty…but I did mine.”

“My duty was to protect you and Constantin. I’d promised you I’d always protect you not an hour before he gave me those orders. If I’d broken that promise, what sort of man would I have been?”

 _The same person I would have been if I’d broken my promise to join Constantin,_ de Sardet couldn’t help thinking. She’d rallied all the nations of Teer Fradee with the promise that she would stop her cousin if they bought her enough time to do so; scores of islanders, Nauts, Coin Guards, Thelemites, and Alliance soldiers had died to open the path to Credhenes. _I could not have joined Constantin without betraying them all._

More than that, she knew she couldn’t have joined Constantin without betraying her friends, and without betraying Kurt. _Unless…_

“You said that we made the same choice,” she said. “What if I didn’t have to choose? What if, in joining Constantin, I could have made him see reason? What if I could have brought him back to himself?”

“You couldn’t have. He was beyond that.” Again, Kurt looked her in the eye, and she saw his concern for her. “If this ritual is what you need to be certain, then I’ll be at your side. We all will.”

She nodded slowly. “Is Dunncas ready to depart?”

“We’re all ready.” Kurt extended his hand; silently, de Sardet took it, and let him lead her to the wagon.


	7. Chapter Seven

The slopes of Anemhaid were very different from the last time they had seen them: the burning rock that had covered the right-hand path was gone, though whether it had been cleared by _nadaig_ or by natives, de Sardet could not say.

“Both paths are now restored,” was all Dunncas said.

Aphra had described to her how the _nadaig_ _baro_ had removed the rockfall that had blocked the sanctuary entrance, allowing them to rescue her; de Sardet had not been able to bring herself to say that perhaps it would have been better if the _nadaig baro_ had left her there, entombed in the heart of the mountain.

_I feel as if I died there, with Constantin. Maybe it would have been better if I had._

“Sieglinde gave orders to clear the path before she left,” Kurt said. “The Guard took down all the barricades, removed the bodies of men and animals alike, and did their best to restore it.”

“Yes. We appreciate the respect they have shown,” said Dunncas. “But we will take the path to the right. It is the easier way, and many of you are still healing.”

“Vasco, are you all right?” Aphra’s broken arm might have been the worst individual injury that any of them had sustained, but Vasco’s greatest wound had been to his calf; of all of them, he was the only one she worried might have trouble making the ascent.

“I’ll manage,” he answered.

De Sardet had made the journey to the sanctuary twice before. This time, it passed in a blur: Kurt stayed with her on one side, Siora on the other, each offering their support. As they moved up the right-hand path, every step became harder: she couldn’t help but remember how eager she’d been the last time they’d come, how hopeful she’d been that _en on mil frichtimen_ might be able to give her a cure for the malichor.

Now, every step made her heart feel heavier, and as they approached the mouth of the sanctuary, she felt only a sense of impending dread. _The last time I entered, I came in the hopes of stopping Constantin. I knew I would have to face him, but some part of me still believed I could save him, that I could find a way…_

“We are here,” Dunncas intoned. “Credhenes, the heart. Any who proceed must undergo the ritual. Any who would refrain may wait here. Once I have spoken with _en on mil frichtimen_ , I will return here to wait for you.”

“We’ve been through this,” said Kurt. “We’re going with her.”

“We said once before that we would all be with you, and that’s still true now,” said Vasco.

“You have been with each of us during our most troubled times,” Siora agreed. “We will stay with you now.”

“She’s right,” said Aphra.

But Petrus hesitated. “I do not know if I can do this, my child.”

“What?” Aphra demanded. “If this is some inane concern about blasphemy or participating in a pagan ritual—”

“No,” Petrus protested. “Not at all.” He looked to Dunncas. “He has said that Saint Matheus himself underwent this rite. If that is true, it would be a great honor to follow in his footsteps…greater than I deserve, in truth.”

“So it’s about false modesty,” said Aphra.

“No,” Petrus repeated. He turned to de Sardet. “I would like to support you, and I hope that you can find healing in this ritual, but…Dunncas speaks of facing your greatest choice, and of seeing what would have been had you chosen otherwise. I believe that you will see that you made the correct choice, and that knowledge will help you move on…but I have lived every day of my life knowing that I made the wrong choice, and have lived with the regret of it every moment since.”

“If I go into the sanctuary, if I see what I might have done…I know that I made the wrong choice, but I do not know if I will be able to live with seeing the life I might have led, had I been stronger.”

“There is no shame in that,” said Dunncas. “If that is your wish, you may remain here.”

But Aphra wouldn’t let it go. “You said that you swore to Arelwin that you would look after her daughter. What if her vision shows her that she made the wrong choice? How will you help her live with it if you can’t live with yourself?”

Petrus looked stricken.

“You don’t have to go for me,” de Sardet said. Her heart ached. “You told me that you regretted not helping my mother end her life. I wish I hadn’t ended Constantin’s.”

“It was necessary,” said Aphra.

“Was it?” De Sardet looked to the entrance. “I have to know.”

“Then follow me,” said Dunncas.

Even knowing that she would have her answers, it took all de Sardet’s strength to walk back into Credhenes, knowing that the short path would lead to the place where she had killed Constantin. She had no memory of leaving the sanctuary the last time: she had collapsed beside him, then awakened in the village of Vigyigidaw.

Returning made her heart ache. She half-expected to see Constantin’s body still there, lying upon the stone floor of the cavern, even though Kurt had told her how they had taken his body from the sanctuary. It was in New Serene even now, she knew, awaiting a state funeral and then a pyre.

 _A pyre,_ she thought distantly. It was how they had burned the bodies of the poorest victims of the malichor, back in Serene; the Prince’s Place had always blazed with a bonfire of the dead. _If nothing else, perhaps a cure will come from this._ Too late for her mother, too late for Constantin, but not for countless others.

The thought was fleeting, interrupted by Dunncas’s voice, ringing out. “ _En on mil frichtimen_! I have brought you the one who saved us from the death-bringer. In return, I ask that you show her what might have been, so that her soul may begin to heal from the wound that was given.”

He withdrew, leaving them alone. Her companions remained.

“ _Flesh of my earth,”_ came the voice of _en on mil frichtimen_. _“The stolen child of my land, who came to save both her worlds. Your actions have saved both the people of the land of your birth and the people of the poisoned land.”_

 _I may have saved Teer Fradee and the people of Gacane, but what of my cousin?_ “Could I have saved Constantin as well? Dunncas says that you can see the future – what the future would have been, if I had chosen differently.”

“ _Yes.”_

“Then will you show me? Will you show me what would have happened if I had chosen to link myself to Constantin, instead of killing him? Could I have saved him?”

_“I can show you. Do you know the price?”_

“The price?”

“ _The price of knowledge. To know what might have been is a burden too great for many to bear. If you so choose, I will show you, as I have showed many High Kings and Queens before you. You will see your greatest choice, and what might have been.”_

“I understand,” said de Sardet.

_“Is that your choice, flesh of my earth?”_

“Yes.”

As Dunncas had instructed, de Sardet took a dagger from her belt. Her hand shook as she pulled it from its sheath: the sight of the blade brought to mind the last time she had handled a weapon in Credhenes. She looked down at it, and for a fleeting moment thought of driving the tip up into her own heart.

“Sweet Excellency,” Kurt said softly, as if he had realized her thought. The sound of his voice drew her back to herself, and the moment passed: she slit her palm, then handed the dagger to him. He did the same before passing it to Siora, who then handed it to Vasco, then Aphra.

When Aphra handed the dagger to Petrus, it was almost a silent challenge. Petrus looked down at the blade, then at his own hand, and after a long moment opened his palm.

De Sardet took a deep breath. “I am here, _carants_ ,” Siora said. “We are all here.”

Stepping forward, she approached the spot where Constantin had fallen. Sinking to her knees, she pressed her bleeding palm into the ground.   
  



	8. Chapter Eight

_Kurt? What’s going on? Is there something wrong?” Constantin d’Orsay’s voice rose in panic as the Guard assembled._

_The time has come.” At Kurt’s proclamation, the Guard moved instantly: one struck Vasco in the head with the butt of his rifle, while another aimed the barrel of his weapon at Siora’s heart._

_But – what is this?”_

_Ready arms!”_

_Constantin’s panic rose. “Kurt, what are you doing?”_

_“Aim!”_

_Constantin stood, holding out a hand as if he could physically stop the guardsmen from firing. “Stop that, soldiers! Lower your weapons! Now!”_

_Kurt looked to de Sardet. “Sorry, Green Blood…”_

_And then de Sardet moved between him and Constantin, shielding her cousin with her own body. She looked at Kurt with an expression of absolute betrayal in her eyes, but the look flickered there for only a moment before being replaced by a mixture of anger and resolve. Her voice only quavered a little as she demanded, “Fight with honor!”_

_Kurt looked down, unable to meet her eyes, then lowered his hand. “_ En garde _,” he called out. When de Sardet didn’t move, he snapped, “I said draw!”_

_She responded with the reflex of a child used to obeying the orders of her master-at-arms without question. What followed was a fight more vicious than any they’d had in the training yard: de Sardet, armed with her blasts of shadow and lightning-fast dodges, and Kurt, with the sword she’d gifted him, a two-handed broadsword modified with a special pommel and grip. The fight was quick and brutal, and it ended not with a spell or the swing of a blade, but when de Sardet ducked a swing of Kurt’s sword and came up with a fist to his face._

_"Stop it, Kurt!” As Kurt reeled, dropping his sword as he clutched at his nose, de Sardet pulled his head back and pressed her blade against his throat._

_"Wait!”_

_“Speak!” she demanded. “Why did you betray us?”_

_“Our commander figured out that we could easily take control of this island. You rely so heavily on our protection. You are so dependent, so naïve. All the governors on the island will suffer the same attacks if they haven’t already.”_

_Her face was inches from his as he said, “Your problems are far from over, Green Blood. The commander is there on the docks, with all his lieutenants. I failed, but they will certainly succeed, here or elsewhere on the island…” His voice rose with what might have been a hint of despairing amusement. “Not every governor has a cousin I personally trained for combat.”_

_But instead of slitting his throat, de Sardet eased her blade back. “It’s over,” she told him. “You are defeated.”_

_Even as she spoke, Kurt’s hand inched toward her pistol. De Sardet only rarely used the weapon: she was skilled with magic, was competent enough with a sword, but disliked shooting, even for sport. It meant that she generally paid little attention to the pistol on her hip._

_It also meant that when Kurt reached for that pistol, he was able to unholster it before she knew what was happening. In one fluid motion, he grasped the pistol, threw an elbow into the side of her head, and pointed it at her, even as she stumbled backwards, rubbing at her face._

_She turned to face him, and Kurt could hear her anger and her disgust. “You have no honor!”_

_Kurt looked at her. “I agree with you…but I did train you well, at least there’s that.”_

_De Sardet was practically quaking with outrage. She took one step closer to him, then another, until she was only inches away from the end of her own gun. “The student surpasses the master and you cannot bear it!”_

_“You are wrong…I am proud of you.”_

_“De Sardet looked down, giving a slight shake of her head._

_Kurt looked her in the eyes, the gun still levelled at her. “Truly.”_

_Before she could draw closer, before she could even react, he put the barrel of the gun beneath his chin and pulled the trigger. Blood fountained, and as de Sardet looked on in horror and grief, Kurt’s body fell to the ground. Deprived of their captain, the rest of the guards threw down their weapons, surrendering._


	9. Chapter Nine

_“Aphra, you cannot leave!”_

_“I cannot continue to do this! These experiments…these methods…they are immoral!”_

_“Immoral? You sound like one of those insufferable fanatics from Theleme! What’s next? Are you going to presume to tell me that this is against the will of the Enlightened, or that Saint Matheus would disapprove?” Doctor Asili gestured to the logs of his experiments, page after page detailing the horrors he’d inflicted upon his subjects in search of a cure, every symptom and side effect dispassionately detailed. “We are seeking a cure for the malichor, Aphra! Surely that outweighs all other concerns?”_

_“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. These experimental subjects who have died do so knowing that their deaths will lead to a better world for all of us…a world free of the malichor, where their families and friends may grow up in peace.”_

_“But to experiment on living people…to propose infecting them with the malichor, to study its spread…”_

_“These are convicted criminals! My Noura was but five years old when the malichor took her. Vytas was seven. My Alia had to watch them both succumb before she too perished. My lovely wife, my beautiful children…if we had been permitted these experiments sooner, perhaps they would still be alive!”_

_Aphra wavered, and Asili saw her waver. “Do you think a murderer has a greater right to life than those children who, even now, are dying of the malichor? Do you truly believe that brigands and rapists should live, when innocent men and women are dying every day? What right do they have to live and breathe, when my family lies rotting in the ground?”_

_Asili’s eyes blazed with confidence. “We can cure this malichor, Aphra. I know we can. I developed inoculation; how many lives have been saved from the red pox, from lockjaw, from the withers? How many may yet be saved, if only we can discover a cure for this ailment?”_

_“These men and women have wasted their lives. They would only rot in a jail cell. By infecting them with the malichor, we will have a chance to study the disease’s progress from beginning to end, to test any possible treatments.”_

_“Those who are with me when they discover the cure will be immortalized. Not only by the grateful men and women desperate for a cure, but by history itself. Everlasting fame, to be written in the annals of history as one of those responsible for discovering a cure to the worst disease known to mankind, one that had neither cure nor treatment until we found it…think of it!”_

_Aphra had taken a step toward the door; now, she turned._

_“If you walk out that door, you will be walking out on your greatest chance to accomplish anything. What would you be without me? I have taught you all that you know…and can teach you more, if you remain. You could be my greatest student, the heir to all my work. I know you, Aphra: you are brilliant. If you could let go of these foolish qualms, if you could but stay, I know that we could accomplish great things.” Asili’s flattery dropped into threats. “But if you leave…you will never find work again, either here or anywhere else in Gacane. You will find doors closed to you that you did not even know existed. Who would hire someone the great Asili deems to be a feckless incompetent?”_

_“You know I’m not incompetent.”_

_“You have a brilliant mind, Aphra, but a brilliant mind fettered by false ethical constraints is useless. I would not hesitate to say so to any professor in all the Alliance, or to any of my colleagues in other nations, should you choose to seek work beyond our borders.”_

_“Stay. Stay and help me cure the malichor. Become one of the greatest scientists the Alliance has ever known. Or leave, and linger in obscurity, useless and forgotten, cast into history’s refuse pile. It is your choice.”_

_Aphra looked at the door, then back to Asili. Slowly, she took a step forward. “Where shall we begin?”_


	10. Chapter Ten

_“Siora, you cannot leave!”_

_“I must!”_

_“It is nearly the eve of battle! You will not be here!”_

_“I must go to the_ renaigse _. We must have allies, and they say that a new_ mal _has arrived in the city of the yellow eyes.”_

 _“ A new_ mal _. Is the old one dead? I did not know she had a son.”_

 _““ do not think the old_ mal _is dead. The new_ mal _is not the son of the old_ mal _; he has come from across the sea to take her place. Saorse said that she heard the High King of the yellow eyes has ordered his son to take her place as_ mal _.”_

_“Saorse says,” Eseld echoed mockingly. “Saorse is a gossip.”_

_“Saorse’s brother trades with the_ renaigse _,” Siora protested. “Her brother visits the city of the yellow eyes more often than any of us.”_

 _“Why would they have a new_ mal _if the old_ mal _is not dead?”_ Eseld asked.

 _“You know that the_ renaigse _do things differently.”_

 _“They are_ renaigse _,” Eseld said scornfully. “They will never be our allies.”_

 _“Eseld may be right,” said Bladnid. “You must do what you think is best, Siora, but I do not think that we can trust any_ renaigse _.”_

 _“We should speak to Derdre. She may provide aid,” said Eseld. “She wishes to drive the_ renaigse _from our shores, lions, yellow eyes, and mind-shakers alike.”_

_“I would not appear weak by begging for help,” replied Bladnid. “I would hope that we have the strength to drive these lions away without the aid of another clan. If I seek help from Derdre, it will weaken me in the eyes of the other clans. That will not help me once Vinbarr is dead.”_

_Eseld’s eyes glinted with pride. “You will be a great High Queen.”_

_“I should have been elected before, but Vinbarr’s influence was too great. No mind. Once we have crushed the lions, I will have great renown among all the clans.” Bladnid looked to Siora. “I do not believe these_ renaigse _will help us, but I will not keep you from going. Your sister will be at my side for the battle.”_

_“You should be with us,” said Eseld._

_“But if we can find allies among the_ renaigse _…if I can speak to the new_ mal _of the yellow eyes…”_

 _“The_ renaigse _will never help us,” said Eseld. “You should not go.” She folded her arms across her chest. “You will never make it to their village and back before the battle. Even if they wished to help, there is no time.”_

_“Stay,” said Eseld. “Stay and help defend our village. Fight with us.”_

_Siora looked to her mother. “What do you think I should do?”_

_“It is your choice,” said Bladnid. “But I would be happy if both my daughters were at my side. I need every sword I can get if we are to face the lions, and I do not think these gold coins will help. I would rather trust my daughters than the_ renaigse _.”_

 _“We do not need the_ renaigse _to win,” said Eseld. “I know you are fascinated by them, Siora, but do you not trust in your own people? Our courage, our skill: this should be enough.”_

_Siora looked to her mother. “Is this what you believe?”_

_Bladnid nodded. “It is.”_

_“Then I will stay, and fight at your side. We will face these lions together.”_


	11. Chapter Eleven

_Vasco slipped into the tavern, taking a seat at the bar._

_“What would you like, sailor?”_

_“A bottle of brandy will do.” Vasco slapped a coin down on the counter, a florin of Serene. He had dirhams from the Bridge and ducats from Theleme as well, along with a mixture of stranger coins from lesser countries. “Do you know of a man named Bruno?”_

_“Bruno? Yes, but that’ll cost you all your change.”_

_“Keep it. Where is he?”_

_“In the corner there,” the bartender said, gesturing to a dimly-lit part of the room. “The one with the hat pulled over his face, and the pointed beard.”_

_Vasco took the brandy and made his way over to Bruno. “Who are you?” the man demanded._

_The question gnawed at Vasco. It had troubled him for as long as he could remember: the question of who his true family was, the parents who had sold him to the Nauts._

_“That’s a good question, isn’t it?” he replied. “I was hoping that you might be able to give me the answer. I hear you know a good deal about Naut records.”_

_“Maybe I do and maybe I don’t.”_

_Vasco produced a florin._

_““Maybe I don’t.”_

_“He stacked another one atop it._

_““Maybe I don’t.”_

_“Vasco looked at him. “I’m only the navigator. I don’t have a fortune.”_

_““Maybe you don’t care where you come from, then.”_

_“Reluctantly, Vasco placed another florin atop the other two. The other man pocketed them with alacrity. “There, was that so hard?”_

_“Bruno leaned back in his chair, putting both his feet up on the table. The young Naut watched him. “I have my connections, my ways of getting information. Now, I may not be able to get you everything you need, but I can certainly point you in the right direction.”_

_““I don’t even know where I came from,” said Vasco. “All I could tell you is that I took my first steps on the deck of a ship, and that my earliest memories are of the sea.”_

_““Many Nauts can say the same,” Bruno replied. “Were you sea-given?”_

_“Vasco gestured to his chin. “You can see it on my face, can’t you?”_

_““There’s no need to get unpleasant with me, young sir.”_

_““If I was sea-born, I would know my family.”_

_““You might, or you might not. You aren’t supposed to know, you know. All Nauts are equal, raised on that island while their parents live lives of freedom on the sea.”_

_““Only the parents of the sea-born,” Vasco replied. “And, whether or not they’re supposed to know, every sea-born seems to know where they come from. Their parents find a way to know them, even if they aren’t supposed to.” The young navigator’s resentment was plain._

_““That isn’t true of every sea-born, you know. Any woman unlucky enough to give birth during a sea voyage has to give up her child by the time they reach land. I’ve met more than a few Nauts who wanted to find out which ship they were born on, and who they belonged to.” Bruno coughed. “More than one found out his mother died in labor, and that her body’s resting at the bottom of the sea.”_

_““I’m sea-given,” Vasco said; that much he had always known. It was marked out in a Naut’s tattoos, and was the most they generally knew of their families, unless they’d been taken when old enough to remember a little more._

_“Vasco hadn’t been._ The volunteers know more of their old lives, _he thought,_ but I didn’t volunteer for this life, either. My family gave me away. _He had wondered about that family since the first time he’d set foot on shore in a port of Gacane, and seen the way that the land-dwellers of the continent had families of their own, children who were loved by their parents, who lived with them._ Where did I come from? Who were my parents? Did I have any brothers or sisters? 

_“_ Fleet commanders learn the truth, _he thought, but he was fifteen years old and many years away from making captain, let alone fleet commander. He wanted to know more about his family as soon as he could._

 _“_ If I knew them, would they take me back? What sort of family did I come from? Most of the sea-given are from noble families, or at least from wealthy merchants, someone who has cause to seal an agreement with the Nauts. Was I from the Congregation of Merchants, or Theleme, or the Bridge Alliance, or somewhere else entirely? _It had always been a dream of his to find out, and as he got older, the sense that something had been taken from him only grew._

_““Sea-given, eh? Are you sure you want to do this? Every little sea-given boy and girl wants to dream that they’re the long-lost son of the Sultan of the Bridge Alliance or a native princess of Teer Fradee, but none of them wants to know the truth. Most end up being the children of merchants who sold their babes for a few golden coins, or for shipping rights over a rival,” said Bruno, spinning the gold coins between his knuckles. “Might be harder for you when you find out that you were the son of some middling cloth merchant who decided he’d rather have a chest of gold than a son.”_

_““Vasco!” As Vasco turned, he saw several of his friends entering the tavern, making their way toward him. “What are you doing?”_

_““Nothing,” he said guiltily, but one of them advanced, gesturing at Bruno as he did so._

_““I know him. Sorry excuse for a Naut...if you can still call a man a Naut if he can't go to sea.”_

_“Bruno spat. “They grounded me for smuggling. Now, I trade in information. Makes a living.”_

_““You know you’ll be in trouble if the captain finds out what you’re doing,” one of his friends said. “He’ll have your hide. A dozen lashes at least.”_

_““I don’t care,” Vasco said stubbornly._

_““What do you need to know for? We’re your family,” another of his friends protested. “Aren’t we good enough for you?”_

_““It isn’t that,” Vasco protested, but another of his friends was already saying, “I’ll tell the captain, I will. You know there are questions we aren’t supposed to ask.”_

_“Bruno persisted. “If you want to know, I’ll keep the gold, and send you what I can find out. Just give me your name, boy, and I’ll meet with you before your ship leaves port.”_

_“Vasco looked back to his friends, then to the information broker. “Give me the money back. I’ve changed my mind.” But his resentment lingered, and his longing, even after his friends made him promise to keep from pursuing the matter, and a hot ember of disquiet burned within his heart, a fire no sea could quench._


	12. Chapter Twelve

_Petrus looked down at the woman in the cell. “Arelwin,” he said._

_She looked up. Even wasting away, emaciated and exhausted, she was the most beautiful woman Petrus had ever seen. Wide blue eyes, honey-colored hair, and a delicate, exotic look to her features, she looked deceptively fragile: in truth, she was the strongest woman Petrus had ever known._

She would have to be _, he thought. To survive the death of her spouse, to have their infant daughter torn from her arms the moment they made landfall in Serene, to be cast into this prison to die, and yet to have a spirit so unbroken and vibrant as hers…I can only marvel at her strength. At her._

_Arelwin looked up. “Petrus,” she said, and he cherished the sound of his name on her lips. “You have heard what I want. Will you help me?”_

_“I know what you want,” he said. “Suicide is a sin. I cannot help you in that.” He fumbled with the keys he had taken. “However, I will not leave you here.”_

_“What are you doing? I do not understand.”_

_“I’m going to get you out of here. There’s a ship waiting for you at the docks. I can get you there.”_

_“But my daughter…my Aine…”_

_“I cannot reach her. Nor can you. The Princess de Sardet has adopted her. She calls her Alexandra, after her late husband, Prince Alexandre de Sardet.” Petrus found the correct key, fitting it to the lock. “She will grow up here as a fine lady of Serene, heir to a vast fortune and title.”_

_“She is_ on ol menawi _. How will they explain her mark?”_

_“An unfortunate birthmark. There are children here born with wine stains upon their faces, or with white marks where all color has faded; this is unusual, but the Prince d’Orsay will quash all rumor. His sister cherishes the babe, and will not hear a word spoken against her.”_

_“The babe.” Angry tears came to Arelwin’s eyes. “_ My _babe, my Aine.”_

_“We must leave now. I will take you to the docks. There is a Naut smuggler leaving for your homeland with the tide. You will be aboard that ship. There is no time to waste.” Petrus opened the door._

_Arelwin was barely well enough to stand on her own, yet she protested as Petrus helped her up. “I will not leave without my child! I would rather die!”_

_“Listen to me,” Petrus pleaded. “If you go now, you may yet see your child again. The Prince d’Orsay would not take a native child simply to please his sister; there are orphans enough in Serene, he does not need to steal one from your island. He wanted your daughter badly enough that he has promised the Nauts a dozen noble children in her place. Even now, his lords are complaining that they will be forced to give up their children. Lord de Courvillion, Lord d’Ailes, Lord d’Arcy, Lord de Renaud: he is angering some of his most powerful courtiers in order to placate the Nauts and keep your daughter for himself.”_

_“He has plans for her, I tell you. Thus far, the Congregation’s plans for Teer Fradee have come to naught, but he plays a long game. He will raise her here, as Lady Alexandra de Sardet, but I cannot imagine that he will keep her here forever. When she is grown, he will send her back – perhaps as an emissary, an envoy to your people, a peace offering, I know not. But she will come home.”_

_“When she does, you must be there. You can’t die here, Arelwin. Not like this. Please.”_

_Arelwin listened, then looked at the young Petrus, at the desperation in his eyes, the way sweat poured down his face. “And what of you, young father?” she asked. “Will you come with me?”_

_“I cannot. The smuggler has a place for you on his ship, but even that cost me all I had, and some funds that weren’t mine besides. Even now…” Petrus glanced over his shoulder. “We must leave.”_

_“What will happen to you, when I am gone?”_

_Petrus didn’t answer._

_“Tell me truly, Petrus.”_

_Petrus looked back to her, desperation and love mingled in his gaze. “They’ll kill me,” he said simply. “If the Prince d’Orsay doesn’t, then the cardinal will when he discovers how much I’ve stolen.”_

_“You would do this for me?”_

_“Yes,” said Petrus._ I love you. _He couldn’t bring himself to form the words, but he knew that Arelwin saw it in his eyes. “For you, and for your daughter. You have suffered so much already.”_

_“I don’t know if you’ll make it back to your home. They might find you, and the journey is long. But, if you do…” Petrus tried to smile and failed. “Remember me, please, Arelwin.”_

_She looked at him for a long time. “Are you certain of your path?”_

_“I am certain.”_

_Arelwin let him guide her out of the cell. “I will never forget you, young father, and I thank you.”_


	13. Chapter Thirteen

_De Sardet looked at Constantin_. _“All you have to do is bind yourself, here, to me…and we will be gods, together, forever!” He extended a hand to her, imploring. “Come.”_

_De Sardet looked at him for a long moment. Then, steeling herself, she opened her own hand with the blade, feeling the blood pour from the wound._

_Constantin extended his hand. “Come,” he said again, and this time it was both command and invitation. When de Sardet hesitated, he took one step toward her, then another, his hand still extended. “Trust me.”_

_Reluctantly at first, de Sardet extended her hand. As she did, Constantin raised his own, and she grasped it tightly._

_“You won’t regret it, cousin,” Constantin said, pulling her into an embrace._

_She buried her head in his shoulder as the world exploded around them and_ en on mil frichtimen _screamed._


	14. Chapter Fourteen

De Sardet lifted her head, breathing hard. “What have I done?” It took her a moment before she realized that the world was normal around her: the great tree rose in the distance, entirely intact, and while her hand was bleeding, Constantin was nowhere to be seen.

She heard the sound of someone sobbing; a moment later, she realized it was Petrus. She looked up, but caught sight of Kurt first: he was on his hands and knees, murmuring something to himself. Crawling closer to him, she heard, “…proud of you…truly…”

He looked up as moved closer, and she saw the relief wash over him as he flung himself at her, wrapping her in an embrace so tight she could barely breathe. “Sweet Excellency,” he said, pressing his hands against the side of her face, as if trying to reassure himself that she was real. He looked into her eyes, then kissed her before folding her into his arms once more. 

“Kurt,” she said, surprised. “Are you all right?”

Kurt’s only response was to press his face into her shoulder, breathing deeply. After a moment, he recovered enough to ask, “How are you?”

De Sardet nodded. “Better,” she said. Kurt looked as if he might press her further, but after a long, searching look, simply nodded.

Siora was staring up at _en on mil frichtimen_ in wonder; Aphra was looking down at her hands, horrified; Vasco had rocked back on his heels, crouching in stunned silence; Petrus was weeping openly. None of them spoke of what they had seen, but it was clear that they were all deeply shaken.

De Sardet got to her feet. She helped Kurt up, then went to offer a hand to Vasco; Siora was already on her feet. To her surprise, Aphra went to Petrus.

“Maybe you were right,” she said simply.

When they reached the mouth of the cavern entrance, Dunncas was waiting. “Did you find what you needed, _on ol menawi_?”

De Sardet nodded. “Thank you,” she said, and meant it. Her heart still ached with grief, but the overwhelming guilt she had felt had ebbed; it no longer threatened to crush her entirely.

“Will you return to Vigyigidaw?”

“No, thank you. I think it is time to return home,” she said, and realized as she said it that she meant it: at some point, home had become the legate’s house in New Serene, not the palace of Serene.

None of them spoke of what had happened that night, or even the next morning: it was dusk the next day before de Sardet gathered her companions around the campfire.

“I’m not going to ask what any of you saw,” she said. “I don’t expect you to tell me. But I know that you all know what I asked of _en on mil frichtimen_ , and I think that you deserve to know what it showed me.”

She took a deep breath. “In Credhenes, in the sanctuary, Constantin asked me to join with him. He said that we could be gods together, that he would share his power so we could remake the world anew. He gave me a blade, so that I could bind myself to him in blood.”

“Instead, I killed him. But I’ve spent the last days wondering what I could have done differently…wondering, if I had accepted him, if I could have changed his mind through that bond.”

She let out a shaky little laugh. “Constantin and I have always shared a bond. We were inseparable as children; he always told me that I was his only friend, and that he was mine. He said that, whatever happened, nothing would ever part us. I protected him, and he would try to look out for me.”

“As if you needed looking out for, Green Blood,” said Kurt. “You were always better at defending yourself than His Highness.”

That drew a sad smile from de Sardet. “You can’t always beat other children with wooden swords, Kurt,” she replied. “Or even spells, for that matter. People don’t always attack you with weapons; words can hurt just as much.”

“Constantin liked to think he could defend me. He could be horrible to other children, especially if he thought that they had insulted me…the pranks he played, the things he said…he would make them pay, and they couldn’t do anything to retaliate, because Constantin was the Prince d’Orsay’s only son and heir. Constantin knew it, too. He could be cruel,” she admitted, “but he thought that he was justified.”

“Thinking you’re justified doesn’t always make it so,” said Aphra.

“I know. But Constantin…he was my only friend, and my cousin, and I would have forgiven him anything. Our lives were so intertwined…it sometimes felt as if I had no other life than to defend him, to be his shadow, but I couldn’t imagine living any other way. At my uncle’s court, there was little enough else: a life of palace intrigues, or of frivolity and gossip, or of endless nothings. Spending my time following Constantin around, getting him out of his difficulties, was far preferable to that.”

De Sardet looked up. “It was only once we came to the island that I began to have a life apart from his.” She looked to Kurt and Vasco. “On the _Sea Horse_ , I began to get to know you better, but Constantin was always there; it didn’t feel like anything was different, not truly. Not until we reached Teer Fradee did things begin to change.”

Her gaze moved to Siora, then Petrus, then Aphra. “For the first time, we were apart for days, weeks. It was the first time I ever truly had a life of my own, the first time that I ever truly had friends. In the palace at Serene, there was no way to trust anyone; everyone wanted something, or was plotting something, or had another agenda. Here…all of you have been my friends. We’ve fought at each other’s side, helped each other, trusted each other. You’ve meant so much to me.”

“It’s nothing you haven’t done for any of us,” said Vasco. “You helped me answer questions that had troubled me all my life.” 

“You helped me return my mother to the earth,” Siora agreed. “You saved my people and my home.”

“You opened my eyes to a new way of thinking,” Aphra added. “The things we’ve seen!”

“You helped me get justice for Reiner. Putting an end to the ghost camp, making sure that bastard Hermann got what he deserved—” Kurt broke off as his voice grew rough with emotion. “You’ve done as much for any of us, Green Blood.”

De Sardet shook her head. “You’ve helped me make a life of my own, for myself. I never realized it, but I never had that.” Her expression darkened. “If I had joined with Constantin, I would have lost that forever.”

All her companions were entirely silent, waiting for her to continue. It was a long moment before she did. “Joining with Constantin…I had imagined the bonding would be a coming-together, a pairing of equals, but what _en on mil frichtimen_ showed me…”

“Constantin still saw me as I had been in Serene, as we always were: as part of him, without wants or desires of my own. Whatever he wanted, I must want, because we were so close – but he could never imagine that our desires might differ. Whatever he wanted, I must want; whatever he planned, I would join him; whatever he commanded, I would obey…and he thought I would do so willingly, even gladly, because of my love for him.”

“He wanted me to join him because he loved me, because he could not imagine a life without me at his side – but also because he wanted to possess me, to take me away from all of you, and from the life I had made without him. In his mind, I belonged to him, always. ‘ _My_ fair cousin,’ he said. ‘ _My_ adorable cousin.’ _Mine_.”

“ _En on mil frichtimen_ said that he was selfish, grasping, hungry for power and control. Constantin wasn’t selfish, but he was self-centered. He was grasping – grasping for the life that had been stolen from him. If he was hungry for power, it was only because of what his father had done to him. All his life, he was told that he had to achieve, that he was never good enough. I think that part of him believed that, in seizing the power of the island, he would put himself beyond his father’s reach forever, make himself greater than his father could have dreamt of becoming. If he was hungry for control – well, how could he hunger for anything else? So much had happened to him in so little time, from the time that he discovered he was afflicted with the malichor to the time he died—”

De Sardet broke off with a shuddering breath. “The time I killed him,” she said. “I can say it now, because I know that I had no other choice.”

She looked down at her hand, tracing the cut on her palm. “If I had linked myself to him, he would have overwhelmed me. His desires would have become my desires, and I would have become nothing more than a pale reflection of him, a vessel of his will. I would have lost myself entirely, forever. The immortal gods of Teer Fradee – but the god of a single face, not a thousand faces, and that face would have been Constantin’s.”

“I loved Constantin. I don’t know when the Constantin I loved died, if it was when Catasach performed his ritual, if it was then that he felt the power of Teer Fradee and realized that he could take it for his own, or if it was when Vinbarr kidnapped him and buried him in that stone prison. Perhaps the strain of everything he had been through broke his mind. He suffered through the malichor, the Guard’s attempted coup, Vinbarr’s kidnapping, and throughout it all, he was entirely helpless. Perhaps he decided that taking this power would keep him safe.”

“Would keep both of you safe,” said Kurt. “He cared about you, Green Blood. He was always worried you wouldn’t come back to him.”

“He sent Kurt with you, rather than keeping him by his side,” Aphra pointed out. “Even after the Coin Guard’s treason, he allowed Kurt to continue traveling with you. It would have been logical to keep the captain of his guard in the palace, but he wanted him to look after you.”

“Even after he knew you were together,” Vasco said. “I saw how he looked when you told him. He didn’t like it.”

De Sardet remembered Constantin’s surprise, and his comments when she’d first mustered the courage to tell him. _If it makes you happy, my fair cousin,_ had been his last word on the subject, spoken with a flippant tone that had suggested he thought she was keeping Kurt as a pet, or perhaps as an amusement similar to one of the countless dalliances Constantin had engaged in with the palace servants and prostitutes in the brothels of the Coin Tavern. Any subsequent attempts to tell him of how serious her feelings were had been met with flippant jokes or quick changes in subject, superficial expressions of happiness for her that had never led to a deeper discussion. 

_It shouldn’t have taken courage,_ she realized. She hadn’t been afraid to tell any of her other friends; to the contrary, she had been eager to share the news, knowing that they would be happy for both her and Kurt. _Even then, I knew Constantin wouldn’t react well – not because I had invited Kurt into my bed, but because I’d given him my heart._ Constantin had always been a brother to her; there had never been any attraction there, at least not on her side. _I never believed Constantin thought of me that way, either._ In falling in love with Kurt, she had developed a relationship that Constantin could never share, a part of her he could never have, and she knew now that had been the reason for his displeasure.

_Would he still have loved me once I was more than his reflection? Would his feelings have endured once he realized that I had a life so wholly separate from his?_

“He wanted us to be together, forever,” she said. “But if I had joined him, I wouldn’t have been _me_ , I would have been a piece of Constantin…and that, I think, is what he wanted. That is why he offered his hand to me. So I could become a part of him, and lose myself.” _The worst part is, I don’t think he saw it that way. I don’t think that he believed I would lose myself, because he only ever saw me as an extension of himself to begin with._

Tears did stream down her face now, but they weren’t the lost, despairing tears she’d nearly drowned in over the past week: instead, she felt pain, but also acceptance of her loss. “If I had joined him, I would have become a monster, as twisted and lost as any of the corrupted _nadaig_.” She looked to Petrus, then Aphra. “You would have died together, on the slopes of Anemhaid.” Then to Siora: “You would have become a _nadaig_ , and fallen under Constantin’s sway.” To Vasco: “You would have fled to your island, and stayed ashore there, swamped in bitterness and anger.” To Kurt: “You would have gone back to the Continent and given into despair. You died on a battlefield there, charging into certain death.”

“I saw all of that, and more. There were many futures after I grasped Constantin’s hand…but they all ended the same way. Gacane aflame, the malichor spreading, the island under Constantin’s dominion…and me, too, worshiped as a goddess but as hollow as an empty vessel, filled only with Constantin’s desires.”

She reached for Kurt, then, wanting comfort, and she rested her head against his shoulder. “I’ll always wonder if I could have saved him,” she said finally. “If there was something I could have done differently, if there was something I overlooked. If Catasach could have found another ritual, or if I had returned in time to go with them, or if Vinbarr hadn’t abducted Constantin…but I know now that, once we reached Dorhadgenedu, there was nothing I could have done.”

“Allow me to ask you this, my child,” said Petrus. “Given the information you had at the time, is there anything you would have done differently? Not knowing what you know now, of course, only using the knowledge you had then.”

“You couldn’t have returned to New Serene any sooner,” Aphra added. “If you had, Doctor Asili would have gone free.”

“We could have dispensed with the trial,” Kurt suggested.

“If you’d done that, the Bridge would never have forgiven you,” Aphra replied. “Doctor Asili was revered among my people. If you hadn’t taken the time to gather evidence, persuade the witnesses, and do everything properly, you would have earned their enmity forever. The legate of the Congregation of Merchants blowing the head off of one of our greatest heroes?”

“De Sardet doesn’t like using her pistol,” Vasco pointed out. He grinned. “Half the time, I think she forgets it’s an option. She’s more likely to have finished him with a burst of shadow.”

De Sardet felt Kurt tense at that, but didn’t know why. “I couldn’t have executed him,” she said. “Aphra is right; Governor Burhan would have summarily expelled us from Hikmet. I might well have caused a war.”

“In any case, we certainly wouldn’t have aided you at Dorhadgenedu,” Aphra pointed out. “That might well have proved fatal – at least to me and Vasco, given how sorely our forces were taxed at their full strength.”

“Knowing only what you knew then, could you have done any differently?” Petrus asked.

De Sardet answered truthfully. “No.”

“Even if you had, I do not think it would have changed anything,” said Siora. “If Constantin’s madness was caused by becoming _on ol menawi_ , then your being there would not have made a difference.”

“But if it was Vinbarr’s kidnapping—”

“Vinbarr took Constantin because of the visions from _en on mil frichtimen_ ,” Siora pointed out. “You know now that he can see many possible futures. Would he have given Vinbarr the vision if he knew that it would lead to Constantin becoming the death-bringer?”

“She’s right,” said Vasco. “For the island’s god to give Vinbarr visions of Constantin’s madness, he had to already be on that path. Vinbarr didn’t drive Constantin mad.”

“Is that true? If _en on mil frichtimen_ can see into the future—”

“It can’t see the future. It can see possible futures,” said Aphra. “Hundreds or thousands of possibilities. But if it gave visions to Vinbarr, it must have known that the futures where it gave those visions to him were better than the futures where it didn’t.”

“This is giving me a headache,” Kurt groused.

“I know that this is difficult for you,” Petrus told her. “You want there to have been a way you could have saved your cousin. Yet it is entirely possible that his fate was sealed the moment he drank from that poisoned bowl.”

 _From the moment he set foot on Teer Fradee, he was doomed._ De Sardet thought of how happy Constantin had been as he’d bounded down the gangplank, bursting with excitement at surveying his new domain, utterly joyous at the thought of being separated from his parents by an entire ocean. _From the moment he drank, he was dead, and there was nothing I could do to save him._

That thought hurt more, especially when she remembered all she’d done. _I sought out the greatest healers of San Matheus, Hikmet, and all the native villages. I killed one High King and crowned another. I went through the trials. Everything I did, I did to save Constantin, and all of it was utterly useless._

But then she looked up again, and realized she was wrong. _I did all these things, yes, but not by myself. Never by myself._ Her friends had been by her side, always. _I brought Doctor Asili to justice. I saved the Nauts and the natives he experimented upon alike. I learned the truth about Saint Matheus, and helped reveal it to the Mother Cardinal and, I hope, all of Theleme._

In doing so, she had forged a life for herself: not merely as the loyal cousin and ever-present shadow of Sir Constantin d’Orsay, but as Legate de Sardet of the Congregation of Merchants, the envoy to Hikmet and San Matheus, _carants_ to the native tribes, an _on ol menawi_ who was also a sea-born of the Nauts. She was Alexandra de Sardet, a woman who had earned respect in her own right, who had fallen in love, who had made friends of her own.

 _Our actions may even lead to a cure for the malichor._ It was too late for her own mother, too late for Constantin, but not too late for all those on Gacane who would otherwise perish. _That is why we came. Oh, Constantin, how I wish you had lived to see it._

Aphra’s words drew her back to the present. “I don’t know that you’re helping anything, Petrus. Telling her he was doomed from the start isn’t likely to make her feel any better, especially when he isn’t the only one who drank that poison. Do you want to give her a bad case of survivor’s guilt?”

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” Kurt told her. “If anything, you should blame me.”

“No,” said de Sardet. “You can’t blame yourself, Kurt. You weren’t even off the boat. Ship,” she corrected, and smiled despite herself. It brought a laugh from Kurt, and Vasco was hard-pressed to maintain an air of irascibility. Seeing his face, she had to laugh, and the wave of laughter made Vasco laugh in turn, which set both her and Kurt off once more. She knew it wasn’t truly that funny, but it was the first time she’d laughed since Constantin’s death, and it was as if she’d suddenly remembered how.

 _I don’t remember the last time I laughed, or saw them laugh,_ she thought. She’d had little enough reason to smile in the days leading up to Constantin’s death; once she’d discovered his plans, her life had become a tumultuous rush of painful discoveries. Everything that had followed from the moment he’d vanished was a blur: discovering his hideaway, trying to pursue him, madly rushing to gather allies to stop him, all of it culminating in the battle at Dorhadgenedu. Even feeling the urge to laugh was strange, as if she’d grown so totally unused to having any form of joy in her life that she wasn’t entirely sure what it felt like. Smiling, laughing, seeing the others do the same: it made her feel better, as if Kurt’s laughter and Vasco’s smile were promises that she would be able to live again.

“I don’t understand what’s so amusing,” said Aphra. Vasco explained the story, but when he’d finished, she saw that Aphra still wasn’t smiling.

“If we’re discussing which of us deserves the blame, it should be me,” she said. “If I had spoken up against Doctor Asili when I left his laboratory, maybe someone might have put a stop to his experiments sooner. At the very least, perhaps he might have been more circumspect. The sheer audacity of poisoning the only son and the niece of the Prince d’Orsay…”

“What difference would your word have made, truly?” Petrus asked her. “Your conscience may weigh heavily on you, but I doubt you could have turned him from that path.”

“I don’t know,” Aphra admitted. “But I suppose we’ll never know, will we?”

“No,” said de Sardet. “I can’t blame any of you for what happened. Doctor Asili was to blame for infecting him, but after that, all that followed…I don’t think I can blame anyone else. Catasach was only trying to help; I don’t even know if Vinbarr was entirely in his right mind. And Constantin…I cannot blame him. But I no longer blame myself for what I did, either. I know now that it was what I had to do.”

For the first time since she had killed Constantin, she slept peacefully: not the dead sleep of exhaustion that had claimed her after killing Constantin, and again after her encounter with _en on mil frichtimen_ two days before, nor the restless, nightmare-filled sleep that had plagued her in the time between, but a truly restful, peaceful slumber that lasted until well after dawn. When she woke the next morning, she knew she was truly ready to return to New Serene.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

The journey from Dorhadgenedu to New Serene was a long one: Dorhadgenedu was at the very heart of the island, New Serene on the southernmost part of the coast, and the group did its best to avoid danger, steering well clear of any _ulg, andrig_ , _tenlan_ , _yorglan_ , or other beasts that might have harassed them. None posed a true threat to the party, well-armed as they were, but none of them was in the mood for unnecessary fighting.

All of the party’s members were troubled to one degree or another, and each of them sought out de Sardet during the journey.

Kurt was the first, though he didn’t have to go looking for her: she awakened in the middle of the night to the realization that he was having a nightmare, thrashing and turning in his sleep.

“—truly,” she heard him mumble, just before he jolted awake, sitting bolt upright. “No!”

“Kurt,” she said. “Kurt, it was a dream. I’m here.”

He blinked, and she saw awareness come into his gaze as his eyes focused on her; then, just as suddenly, he reached out and pulled her into an embrace, holding her as tightly as he had in Credhenes. She held him back, feeling how hard he was breathing, and didn’t let go until he did. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Pulling back, she saw there were tears in his eyes. “Tell me. It’s all right.” She saw him hesitate, looking away. “It’s about what you saw, isn’t it? Your vision.”

Kurt nodded. “It’s all right,” she said. “Whatever you saw, it didn’t happen. You can tell me.”

De Sardet didn’t catch the first part of what he said, but heard, “…what you’ll think of me.”

Gently, she rested her hand against his cheek; that drew his gaze. “Kurt,” she said, with clear affection leavened by equal amounts of amusement and sadness, “I told you that I saw myself join Constantin. I saw us destroy Teer Fradee. Thousands would have died – tens of thousands and more, if you include those who would have perished from the malichor, and from all the wars back on the continent. _You_ would have died. Do you hate me?”

“No,” Kurt said. As she took her hand from his face, he caught it, then kissed it. “Of course not. You didn’t—”

“Exactly. I didn’t. Just as, whatever you saw yourself doing, you didn’t. You had the choice, but you chose otherwise.” De Sardet hesitated. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to—”

“I do.” He took a deep breath. “It was the coup. When I received my orders.”

Slowly, haltingly, he told her everything he had seen, from the moment that he’d ordered the soldiers to raise their weapons to the moment he’d fired his own. “It was my worst nightmare,” he finished. “To lose my honor following orders from the likes of Torsten and Hermann…to become a traitor, to raise my sword against you…”

“But you didn’t make that choice.”

“No. I couldn’t have, not after we’d been through so much together. There was never any world where you went with me to the ghost camp where I would have made that choice. This…this was different. I asked you if we could look into Reiner, but you put me off. We never went, and I resented that…resented you. It made me turn back to the Guard…and because we’d never investigated what happened to Reiner, I never knew how corrupt the Guard had become. When those orders came, I trusted my superiors; I was too bitter about Reiner to put you first, and too blind to see that I was betraying everything I’d ever believed in for the ambitions of men like Torsten, Hermann, and Rolf.”

Kurt shook his head, as if he could dispel his memory of the vision. “The vision I saw…it was one vision, but it was as if I could see other paths leading to it, and flashes of other paths leading away. I saw you slit my throat before I could get your gun; I saw you use your sword instead of your magic when we fought. But it always ended the same way.”

“With you turning my gun on yourself.”

Kurt nodded. “A coward’s way out. I knew I deserved a traitor’s death, but after what I’d done, I couldn’t face that…face you…”

“But you never pulled the trigger on me, even after you’d disarmed me.”

“No. Never.” He still couldn’t look at her, and was therefore extremely surprised when she put both her hands on the sides of his face and kissed him.

“Kurt…don’t you see? You’re a better man than you give yourself credit for. You said that this was your worst nightmare, but you didn’t shoot me. It was one bad decision – one decision you would never have made, because we did find out what happened to Reiner; we did put an end to the ghost camp. If I’d ignored you, treated you like a hireling and taken you for granted, I would have been to blame, at least in part.”

“No,” he said, but de Sardet continued as if she hadn’t heard him.

“More importantly, you didn’t choose that path. You got your orders, and you chose to disobey them. You chose me.” She paused. “When you got those orders, telling you to eliminate Constantin and me…did you ever consider obeying them? Even for a moment? Not in the vision you saw, in reality.”

“ _No_ ,” Kurt protested, looking stricken. “Not for a moment. Not once.”

“Because you loved me, even then. Because we had been through so much together.”

“Yes.”

“Cold-hearted mercenary indeed,” said de Sardet. “Kurt, to show you making a different choice, _en on mil frichtimen_ had to show you a vision of an entirely different world, one where I was someone who wouldn’t help you when you asked, who never spent half so much time with you. Even when you betrayed us, when you could have used my own gun against me, you couldn’t bring yourself to hurt me. You were angry, you were hurt, but you still cared enough for me that you couldn’t choose to kill me.”

“I couldn’t choose at all,” Kurt said hoarsely. “In that world…I believed so totally in the Coin Guard. That it was as honorable, as just, as I wanted it to be. Even knowing what had happened in the past, even knowing that a man like Hermann had risen so high, I still believed.”

“And you still cared for me. Enough that you chose to kill yourself instead of being forced to choose between protecting me and remaining loyal to the Guard.”

Kurt nodded; de Sardet looked into his eyes. “When _en on mil frichtimen_ showed me joining Constantin, he didn’t have to change half as much. He only had to make a world where I wanted to believe in Constantin more than myself, where the hope that I could save him outweighed everything else.”

“I wish I could say that there was no world where I would ever have joined him. I wish that I could say I wasn’t tempted by the belief I could have saved him. Knowing what I know now, I would never have joined him. But, in that moment…” She leaned forward. “I thought of it, Kurt, if only for the smallest of moments…but I thought of taking his hand.”

“What do you think of me? Do you despise me? Do you hate me for what I might have done?”

This time, it was Kurt who tilted her chin up toward him. “Never.” He looked her in the eyes. “Even if you had, I would still have loved you. I would have hated myself for letting you go in there alone, but I wouldn’t have stopped loving you.”

“Then how can you ask what I think of you? You’re my honorable, noble, kind-hearted captain. My love.” She remembered what she had told him on the slopes of Anemhaid, and of what Aphra had said of his actions afterwards. “My hero.”

As they lay back down, she moved closer to him, curling into his chest, and he put an arm around her, holding her close. When they fell asleep, there were no more nightmares.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Vasco found her next. “Do you have a moment?” he asked her.

“Of course.” De Sardet had stopped to gather borage from a cluster of bushes she’d sighted from the road; it was as much habit as anything, since she had built quite the stock of powders and elixirs, but everyone else in the party seemed inclined to humor her.

“I wanted to let you know how thankful I am that you helped me find the truth about my birth family.”

“You’re certainly welcome, but I don’t feel I deserve the credit,” said de Sardet. “If anything, I should thank you for helping me learn more about the Nauts.”

“You’re part of our family,” he replied. “You were sea-born, even if you were stolen from us.”

De Sardet smiled. “‘Us,’” she echoed.

“Yes, ‘us.’ You know, there was a time when I would have said I was stolen from my real family – from my family in Serene, that is. But now I know my home is with the Nauts, and I’m glad of it.”

Vasco ran his hand along two thin branches; absently, he began fiddling with them as he spoke, tying them in a sailor’s knot. “I started wondering about my family when I was just a cabin boy. Even as I started to make my way through the ranks, I’d talk about it with the other midshipmen. All of us sea-given would spin tales about where we came from, what our families were like, whether we thought we were a lost prince of the Congregation or the son of some sultan in the Bridge. None of us ever thought we’d find out – at least, I don’t think any of them ever thought on it.”

“I did. From a young age, I’d started to look into it, scraping up pieces of information wherever I could. I thought I was being discreet, but I know now that my superiors must have noticed. That’s why they grounded me in Teer Fradee, with you; I think they must have known that you were a sea-born, and they thought they could use my interest to bring you closer to finding out about your connection to us.”

De Sardet nodded.

“I was angry when I was grounded, you know that, but I’m glad I was. The admirals made the right decision; I needed to find out the truth.” Vasco paused. “I know now that I did, because I saw what would have happened if I’d tried to forget.”

“That vision I saw, it was right at the beginning, the first time I ever tried to find out anything about my family. I paid a man good coin, and eventually he told me I was from Serene. He gave me a few scraps of information, fed my curiosity, and I was able to begin an investigation of my own. But in that vision…” Vasco shook his head. “In that vision, I lost my courage. Instead of going through with it, I turned around, walked away, and tried to bury my feelings in the depths.”

“If I had, I wouldn’t be half the Naut I am today. The anger that I couldn’t go looking, the thought that I’d never know, that the Nauts had not only taken me from my family, but taken from me any chance at finding out the truth about my family…it ate at me, left me adrift.” Vasco paused. “I saw a future where I would have been a bad sailor and a worse man…and that made me feel all the more grateful to you, for helping me find the truth.”

“I did want to apologize, de Sardet. For the way I acted, when you were first aboard my ship, and even for how I was when we were trying to find my brother. I was…jealous, I’ll admit, and you were more patient with me than I deserved.”

“Vasco, this is long behind us. There’s no need to apologize. You’ve been as good a friend as I could hope for, and the way you’ve welcomed me as a Naut…” De Sardet smiled, though it was tinged with sadness.

“You are a Naut,” he said simply. “You’re part of my family, as much a sister to me as any I’ve sailed with.”

“You’re the only family I have left.” Word of her mother’s death had not yet reached her, but she knew it had to have happened. _Constantin would be dead by now, and he wasn’t infected with the malichor until after we arrived._ The Prince d’Orsay had never been anything but a foreboding figure of authority; his wife had been even less, a woman who’d treated de Sardet with disdain. _She used to call me a ‘little savage.’ I never knew why that made Mother so upset._ She knew now that it had been a barb about her heritage: Heloise d’Orsay had undoubtedly known the truth about her purported ‘niece,’ being as steeped in palace intrigue as she was, and her allusions would have infuriated Jeanne de Sardet. “I hope you’ll always be a brother to me, Vasco, no matter what may come.”

Vasco nodded. “I will be. I promise.”


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Siora came to her next, while they were making camp. “You are much better, _carants_. I am glad that _en on mil frichtimen_ could help heal your wounds.”

“Did he help you, Siora?”

Siora nodded. “He did. You know I felt a terrible guilt after my mother’s death. I thought it would have been better to stay with her, even if it had meant dying at her side. You are my _carants_ , but I had even wondered if it might have been better if I had not met you, if I had chosen to remain in my village instead of traveling to yours. I did not want to hurt you by telling you so, but I did think of it sometimes, and of what Eseld said to me.”

“Before I left, Eseld told me that I should have stayed. She said my duty was with my people, at my mother’s side. But my mother told me it was my own choice to make, and I chose to do what I thought best for our people. I chose to go to your village in the hopes of finding allies. I chose to remain there, and when I returned, it was too late.”

Siora paused. “ _En on mil frichtimen_ showed me what would have happened if I had stayed. My mother would have lived…but perhaps only for a time. I could have saved her life, and we might even have defeated the lions, but there would have been a greater war. That war would have meant that our people and the lions would never have come together to fight at Dorhadgenedu. It meant that Dunncas would never have been elected High King.” She shook her head. “The thousand faces of _en on mil frichtimen_ each peer into a different future. I saw my mother, the new High Queen, deny you access to the sanctuary. I saw your cousin take the island from us. I saw many futures, but everywhere, I saw only corruption and grief…whether you were alone, or at his side.”

“You saw the future I spoke of.”

“Not that one, for I was not there; I did not know you as _carants, on ol menawi_. But I saw other futures where he became our god, or where you both became as gods to us.”

“The god of a single face,” de Sardet murmured. “Constantin’s face.”

Siora nodded. “I saw you at his side, but I did not see _you_ ,” she agreed. “I am glad that you chose to remain with us.”

“As am I,” de Sardet agreed. “And I am very glad that you found me on the steps of the palace that day, though I am sorry that we could not arrive in time to save your mother.”

“It eases the pain,” Siora said. “It seems strange, I know. I realize now that I could have saved her…but it would have cost our people, our soul. She would never have wanted that. If her death was the price we paid to save our island and our god, she would have paid it gladly.”

“You did not abandon her in her hour of need,” de Sardet agreed. “You were both working to save your people in the way you saw fit.” She paused. “The Constantin I knew would never have wanted to hurt innocents. It reminded him of how his parents acted, their casual callousness, the way they cared only for achieving their own aims without reference to the feelings of anyone around them…and he did not curse me as he died. I wish that I could believe it was because he understood.”

“Do you think he did?”

“No,” de Sardet admitted after a long moment. “He was confused, I think, and above all, disappointed. He couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t want to join him. He couldn’t accept that I wasn’t a part of him.” She hesitated. “Your word… _minundhanem_ …you said that it was when you shared someone’s mind?”

“Yes,” Siora said; her eyes narrowed as she understood what de Sardet was thinking. “Constantin was not your _minundhanem_ , _carants_. Two who are _minundhanem_ …it is an equal partnership, a sharing of minds between two people. It is not possession, or taking without giving. It is a discovering of the other, and discovering more of yourself through them, and delighting in what you find.”

“Discovering new aspects of each other,” de Sardet murmured, “and loving them all the more for it.”

Siora smiled as she followed de Sardet’s gaze to Kurt, who was building their campfire. “Yes. The bond is not selfish or unkind. It is good for both, and brings out the best in both of you.” She paused. “It is a bond that makes you both better, happier. I think you know who your _minundhanem_ is.”

“I do. Thank you, Siora.”

“Thank you,” Siora replied. “For saving my people, yes, but also for being my _carants_. I have never had one I felt closer to, even in my village.”


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Aphra’s visit was next, coming the following morning, as they drew within a day’s journey of New Serene. “I’ve seen everyone else coming to you,” she said. “I have no desire to confess to Bishop Petrus, but I suppose I ought to tell you what I saw, and hope you can forgive me.”

“You know I came to Teer Fradee with Doctor Asili, hoping to make a name for myself, wanting to discover everything I could on this marvelous island.” Aphra spread her hands. “Surely you must have realized what I saw, the choice I was confronted with, the consequences of that decision. Petrus will have seen something with your mother, Kurt will have seen himself participating in the Coin Guard’s coup—”

“He told you?”

“No, but it was only logical. Just as I’m certain that Vasco’s choice involved something of his noble heritage, and Siora’s was about her people. I know all of you as well as I’ve ever known anyone. Doctor Asili didn’t encourage us to make friends with our fellow students; you, on the other hand, have tried to make sure we all grow closer to one another. Every time we fight together, camp together, eat together, you do your best to smooth things over, to ensure we don’t argue, and to point out our common interests. You’re always the diplomat, even when you don’t have to be.”

“I’ve always been a scientist. You know how much I revered Doctor Asili. Surely you know what my choice was, and what the natives’ god showed me.”

“He showed you remaining with the doctor,” said de Sardet.

Aphra nodded. “I became his hardest worker, his closest assistant. I watched myself distill the malichor and inject its essence into helpless prisoners. I watched myself murder helpless prisoners in order to dissect them, hoping to find some protective essence within their blood, their bones, their lymph. There were flickers of visions from time to time, fragments, as if he wanted to show me possibilities within possibilities. I believe that must be what _en on mil frichtimen_ sees when he perceives the future, a thousand different timelines, flashes of things that might have come to pass.”

“I saw Siora in those cells. Vasco, too. I saw them die, and I saw myself entirely inured to their pain. I saw myself in a doctor’s mask, visiting you and your cousin. I saw myself hand the poisoned bowl to him, and smiled as I watched him drink.”

“In reality – in _our_ reality – it wasn’t me, of course. I’d left him long ago. But in that reality, I saw myself become a monster. When Constantin took the island, it was almost a relief.”

“It wasn’t the choice I thought I’d be presented with. I thought that the choice I’d made was not turning him in when I left; I thought that I would see what would have happened if I had. But that wasn’t my greatest choice, apparently; it was my decision to leave.”

“Surely you don’t regret it?”

“Surely not! I know now that there is more to science than experimentation without ethics. I’m glad that I didn’t end up like him. But…at the time, in all honesty, it was a decision of emotion more than logic. Anger at the doctor for neglecting my talent, frustration at having my qualms ignored, determination to prove myself another way…at the time, I wondered if I’d made the decision for the wrong reasons, even if I thought that the decision itself was correct.”

“And now?”

“Now, I know it doesn’t matter, but…I no longer think that my reasoning was at fault. Emotion has its place in making decision, as much as logic. My mind might have been able to justify staying with Doctor Asili, but my heart…my heart is what led me to leave. And my heart was right.”

“It was hard to see, and it is still hard to think of the way I saw myself in that vision, a heartless scientist who cared nothing for the suffering of others, blinded by a desire for glory and immortality in the annals of the colleges of the Bridge…but I am glad of what I learned of myself, even if I remain troubled by the way I learned it.”

“You are not angry with me for my vision?” de Sardet asked carefully. She knew that the decision to join Constantin would have been purely emotional, and therefore all the harder for Aphra to understand.

“Of course not. You saw yourself joining with a monster to destroy us all…but I saw myself create that monster, without a thought to the consequences. None of us did what we saw ourselves do. You can’t blame yourself for something you never did, especially not after you actively chose the opposite.”

She gave de Sardet a friendly push, steering her toward Petrus. “Go. Hear the good father’s confession; I’m sure he’ll want to unburden himself to you. Even if he doesn’t, I know all priests from Theleme say that confession is good for the soul.”


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Petrus was indeed waiting for her, though de Sardet doubted his eagerness. He watched her with grave eyes, and said little until she was at his side. “Forgive me for not speaking to you sooner,” he said. “I fear that my experiences with the Mother Cardinal have made me wary of confession.” Cornelia had violated the seal of the confessional to tell de Sardet the truth about Petrus’s relationship with her mother, and she could see that Petrus still hadn’t forgiven her for it.

“I understand,” de Sardet replied. “I know it is difficult. The things I saw myself do…I feared you must think me a monster, or at least capable of becoming one.”

“We are all capable of being monsters,” Petrus replied. “What we are is defined by what we do. Your choice was the most difficult of all, but you chose correctly…or, at least, made the best choice you could have.” He paused. “Had you joined Constantin, it would have been out of love: resulting from an overabundance in faith in your cousin, not out of the desire for power or personal gain.”

“The choice I made was out of love,” de Sardet admitted. “Love for all of you, and for this island.” Even now, it was hard for her to say that she loved them more than Constantin; it didn’t seem possible to compare how she’d felt for her cousin to how she felt about her friends. _I would have died to save him, but that was never a choice._

“Your choices were difficult, but at least you know that you chose correctly,” Petrus replied. He suddenly looked older than his years, weighed down by grief. “Even before this ritual, I knew that I had made the wrong choice, and that I would have to live with that knowledge…but I never knew that there was a choice I hadn’t even considered.”

“You know I knew your mother, child. You know I loved her,” he said, and his voice cracked. “I was young then, and foolish, and weak. She asked me to end her suffering; I refused.”

“Surely that choice wouldn’t have mattered. She died anyway.”

“She died,” Petrus echoed; de Sardet wasn’t even sure if he’d heard her. “But I know now I could have saved her.”

“It was never much of a chance, and it would have cost me my career, if not my very life…but I could have saved her. It was never more than the wildest flight of fancy, the most fleeting dream…but had I pursued it, had I tried, the possibility was there. Had I bribed her guards, used my connections to find a smuggler, bribed the Nauts…the Nauts were already furious with the Prince d’Orsay over his decision to take you from them, they had already rioted when he took you, and demanded a dozen noble children in tribute with another two score of commoners’ children to settle the debt. They would have helped oppose him gladly…they might have hidden her successfully. I might have saved her.”

Petrus wiped at his eyes. “That is what I saw, my child. A world in which I earned your mother’s trust, and she confided in me the secrets of her origins on Teer Fradee…a world in which I saved your mother, and sent her back to that home. If I had, then you might have been reunited with her here. Instead…Arelwin died alone in that cell, her body was burned on a pyre far from her home, and you will never know her.”

He wept, and all de Sardet could do was watch; she knew that there was nothing she could say that would console him, nothing that would convince him that he had made the right choice. _Kurt, Vasco, Aphra, even Siora…they know they made the right choices._ As with de Sardet, the ritual had showed them the consequences of making another decision, and in each and every one of those cases, the outcome had been devastating. 

Petrus had seen another side of the ritual. “You have done so much good,” de Sardet began, doing her best to console him. “If you had died in Serene, or been arrested and imprisoned, you would not have been here to help me navigate the political arena.”

“You would have managed,” said Petrus.

“If not for your help, we might never have convinced Aloysius to help us punish Hermann. We would certainly never have discovered the Mother Cardinal’s vices; if not for that leverage, perhaps she wouldn’t have agreed to help us at Dorhadgenedu.”

“Cornelia may doubt what you told her of magic and ritual, but she isn’t a fool. She would have sent help.” Petrus shook his head. “You would have succeeded, my child. My presence was immaterial.”

“If you had asked me which was worth more, Arelwin’s life or my own…I believe that even then, I would have told you hers. But when put to the test, I failed her. If I had seen the choice before me…even then, I know how often I would have failed that test, and betrayed her through my own cowardice, through my failure to act. Sins of omission.”

“It is that which I will have to live with, now: the realization that I could have saved her and did not. I said I loved her, but I loved my own comfort too much to see what I might have done. I might have ended my career, perhaps even my life, but if she had lived, would it have been too high a price to pay?”

“I will not ask for your forgiveness; I do not deserve it. I only wish I could ask for Arelwin’s.”

“You may not wish to ask for my forgiveness, but you have it,” de Sardet replied. “From what I’ve learned of my mother, I believe she would have forgiven you as well.” She was silent for a long moment. “Do you think Constantin would have forgiven me? Do you think he would ever understand?”

“My child,” Petrus replied, “I do not think you would ever have had to ask.”

“He didn’t fight. He wasn’t angry. I thought he’d kill me, or that his _nadaig_ would kill me, but it never attacked.”

“Perhaps the part of him that was still Constantin d’Orsay understood,” Petrus replied.

“It would give me comfort to believe it, but…” _But can I believe?_

She remembered Constatin’s disappointment, the way he’d breathed his last words in an undertone of regret. _What a shame…_

“You know now it was for the best,” Petrus replied. “I will tell you that it should be easier to live with that knowledge than it would have been had you seen a better outcome upon the path you did not take.”

He sighed heavily. “I tell myself that all I can do now is honor her memory. I tell myself that I must have survived for some reason, even if I cannot see the future that would make my life worth more than hers. I wish I could tell myself that I had survived solely to protect you, so that you could save this island and cure the malichor, but I’ve hardly been essential to any of those pursuits.”

“You helped hold the entrance to Credhenes,” she pointed out. “You fought with me all the way to the heart.”

“Would your mother have done any less, had she been at your side? What would anyone else have done in my place?” Petrus sighed. “No, my child, I fear I will have to find meaning some other way. Perhaps it is here, as a cardinal, helping promote the exchange of dialogue between the natives and our missionaries; perhaps it is in helping pave the way for acceptance of the true teachings of Saint Matheus, and not those the Ordo has perverted to its own purposes. Perhaps it will be in helping Cornelia dismantle the Ordo Luminis entirely.”

“All I can promise is that I will do my best to honor her sacrifice, and promise that I will never again act with the cowardice I did in the days of my youth. I will try to be the man I ought to be…a man who can live with the choices he made all those years ago.” Again, Petrus’s shoulders slumped. “But I fear that learning to live with that anew will take a great deal of effort.”

“I have no doubt you will manage it,” de Sardet replied. _If I am alive now, forging a future of my own, how can you do any less?_ She did think that Petrus had a point. _Constantin is dead and I am alive. I am alive because Constantin is dead. I owe it to him to live in a way that would have made him proud, to turn Teer Fradee into a place that he would have loved – that the Constantin I knew would have loved, not the creature he became._ She would have to live in a way that honored his memory instead of losing herself in endless regrets.

 _I can do that,_ she thought, even as Petrus nodded. _I will._


	20. Chapter 20

The return to New Serene was anticlimactic: there was no fanfare, no honor guard waiting for them beyond the gate, only a pair of guards who acknowledged the party as they entered the city, and another who parted for them as they entered the palace.

De Sardet’s breath caught in her throat the guards at the top of the steps pushed open the doors to the receiving room where Constantin had held court; the chair was empty, as it had been the last time she’d arrived, but knowing that she would never again enter the room to see him there was a pain all its own.

Lady de Morange was holding audience, but she hadn’t seated herself in the throne at the center of the dais; instead, there were a trio of chairs at the base of the steps. Lady de Morange had the center seat, flanked by Sir de Courcillon and Monsieur Vaillancourt, the diplomatic affairs advisor. With Constantin’s death, they were the ranking officials of the Congregation’s government on Teer Fradee.

All three rose as she entered, the crowd of courtiers parting to allow her to proceed to the front of the room unhindered. Many of them whispered and stared as she passed, and she couldn’t help but wonder what they had heard, and what Lady de Morange was saying had passed at Dorhadgenedu, on the slopes of Anemhaid, within the sanctuary of Credhenes itself. 

“Lady de Sardet,” said Lady de Morange. “I am glad to see you are well enough to travel. When we first received news after the battle, we feared for your life.”

“I am recovering, thank you.”

De Morange’s gaze moved to de Sardet’s companions. “Princess Siora, Bishop Petrus, Captain Vasco, Captain Kurt, Lady Aphra, I thank each of you for your contributions as well. In the past weeks, we have received emissaries from each of the other factions on the island, speaking of your heroism at the Battle of Dorhadgenedu. I believe that all those who fought in the battle will be regarded as heroes for helping stop Governor d’Orsay from carrying out his attack on Credhenes, a site well-known to be sacred to the natives. If our late governor had succeeded, we have reason to believe that he would have driven all of us from the island, members of the Congregation as well as those of Theleme and the Bridge.”

De Sardet wondered precisely who had told Lady de Morange the truth, and what they had told her; while she knew that Laurine de Morange was more interested in the natives’ magic than most, she had to wonder if she would have reacted with the same skepticism as Governor Burhan and the Mother Cardinal.

“We are most grateful to you for having stopped him,” de Morange continued. “If you had not, this city would have been lost, and our relations with every other nation on this isle would have been irreparably damaged. Thanks to you, the Bridge Alliance, Theleme, and the natives have all reassured us that they do not hold the Congregation at fault for Constantin’s actions; in fact, they are most grateful to you for your heroism.” Her gaze moved to de Sardet’s companions. “I can see that each of you are still recovering from your injuries as well, and I thank you for the sacrifices you have made on our behalf.”

“We did not do it for you,” Siora replied. “I fought to save my home and my people.”

“As did we all,” said Vasco.

“The Nauts have no home here,” de Courcillon pointed out. “Your people, at least, could have left these shores without fear.”

“The Nauts who were docked here would still have been at risk,” Vasco pointed out. “And Legate de Sardet asked for our help. She’s one of our own, and she’s done so much for us that it would have been ungrateful not to come to her aid in return.”

“That seems a recurring theme,” said Lady de Morange, looking to de Sardet. “Both the emissaries from Theleme and New Serene specifically cited your past aid to them as the primary reason why they chose to respond in kind.”

“As if they had no other reason to help,” Kurt snorted. “Their cities were being overrun. If Green Blood hadn’t stopped the attacks, they would’ve been driven off this island entirely.”

“But they might have chosen to remain in their cities, to fortify them as best they could,” Vaillancourt spoke up. “They might have chosen to send a mere token of their regard instead of a garrison of soldiers. They might have chosen to keep their troops within their cities, hoping the natives would be sufficient to stop Governor d’Orsay on their own, even believing that weakening the natives would prove to their advantage in the long term.”

“The Bridge, especially, would favor that,” Petrus pointed out. “They’ve had a number of armed conflicts with the natives. I’m sure that Governor Burhan would have been greatly pleased had Governor d’Orsay wiped out the entirety of the native rebels, along with the more aggressive clans.”

De Sardet glanced to Siora as he spoke: the last major battle between the Bridge Alliance and the natives had involved Siora’s clan, and had resulted in the death of Siora’s mother. She saw the pain flickering in Siora’s eyes now, and the tightness of the set of her jaw. “Many of the _doneia esgregaw_ died at Dorhadgenedu,” she said. “But many of the lions died with them.”

“As did many soldiers of Theleme, the Coin Guard, and the Nauts,” agreed Lady de Morange. “Yet fewer died than would have if you and your friends had not been present, Lady de Sardet. We received an emissary from King Dunncas that made clear the extent of your valor. I have already written to your uncle, explaining what has happened and commending you for your actions.” She looked past de Sardet. “Captain Kurt, Commander Sieglinde has also spoken of your valor. While I know she plans to offer you a separate commendation, rest assured that the Prince d’Orsay will also hear of your heroism in the Battle of Dorhadgenedu.”

“I don’t know that I deserve that, Your Ladyship,” Kurt replied. “I was charged with protecting Governor d’Orsay and Legate de Sardet. Governor d’Orsay is dead, and Legate de Sardet is alive because of her own courage, not mine.”

“You’re far too modest, sir,” de Courcillon spoke up. “Even if you wish to give Legate de Sardet credit for her skill on the battlefield, surely you must credit yourself for having taught her those skills in the first place?”

“Henri is right,” said Lady de Morange. “Although I believe that, as another of Lady de Sardet’s teachers, he may be overly eager to see her teachers given their proper credit.”

“Even so,” said Kurt. “The governor—”

Lady de Morange held up a hand. “Governor d’Orsay was dying in any case. Our doctors assure us that, while he believed the malichor to be cured, it was not; Catasach may have managed to slow its progress, but he could not halt it entirely. There is no known cure, after all, and while King Dunncas has already offered to send a delegation of _doneigada_ to Serene in the hopes of finding one, there is no way they could have done so in time to save our governor. You cannot fault yourself for his loss, Captain; even the best soldier has no defense against the ravages of disease. Instead, give yourself credit for protecting Legate de Sardet against her cousin, and for protecting our allies against his attacks.”

“It still pains me to think of it,” de Courcillon added. “The pain of the affliction and the disappointment of the false cure must have driven him mad.”

Petrus had explained to her already the necessity of the lie, but it still hurt de Sardet to dwell on it. _He was cured of the malichor,_ she thought. _If he hadn’t gone mad, he would have lived._ She wondered what might have happened if she had bundled Constantin aboard a ship during the three days he’d spent unconscious. _What if I had sent him back to Serene? What if I had gone with him, and kept him from ever returning?_

It pained her to think of leaving Teer Fradee behind, and even the thought of abandoning the island to return to Serene hurt more than she wanted to contemplate, but she wondered if it might have saved Constantin’s life. _He wanted to draw upon the island’s power; he loved the feeling that it gave him, the rush of being in control._ For Constantin, the taste of that power had been a temptation too great to bear. _He wanted to build New Serene into the city of his dreams, and was frustrated by the ordinary constraints of ruling. When he realized he could have unfettered power, not only over New Serene but over the entirety of Teer Fradee, and that he could create without anything to stop him, it was too much._

_If I had kept him away from it, would the desire have faded? Would his connection to the island have withered away? Even if it hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been able to threaten the island if he was hundreds of leagues across the sea. Would he have returned to being the Constantin I knew? Would he have forgiven me for taking it away from him? Or would he have hated me for it, and deceived me in order to return?_

She thought she knew the answer, and it made her want to weep. _He had lost too much, too quickly. He was too close to death, too powerless to stop it._ The taste of immortality and godlike power had changed something in him. _He would never have forgotten it. If we had returned to Serene, he would never have been happy. He would have returned as soon as he could, and then…_ In her mind’s eye, she saw Constantin standing before her, bits of earth floating suspended around them, the _nadaig baro_ lurking behind him. _If Vinbarr had succeeded in stripping him of his connection to Teer Fradee, if he had survived that, maybe things might have been different. He would have wept for the loss, but if it was taken from him with no hope of restoration before he could perform his own rituals, perhaps he could have forgotten._

“Lady de Sardet? Legate?” De Sardet blinked, realizing that Lady de Morange had been speaking to her.

“My apologies,” de Sardet replied.

“I was saying that it is regrettable,” de Morange repeated. “I have written your uncle, informing him of all that has taken place. In reviewing your cousin’s dispatches to Serene, I discovered that his last packet of letters home was written shortly after the Coin Guard’s attempted coup was thwarted. In them, he praises Captain Kurt for his loyalty, commends you for your bravery in saving his life and the lives of all his advisors, including myself, Sir de Courcillon, and Monsieur Vaillancourt, informs his father that the attacks on San Matheus and Hikmet were similarly thwarted due to your quick action, speaks of Commander Torsten’s arrest…and informs his father that his doctors have told him he is afflicted with the malichor.”

“Have we received any dispatches from Serene?” In all the months they had been on the island, no word had come from the city. Every time that de Sardet had returned to New Serene, she’d asked her own servants if they had received any letters, and had asked Constantin if there had been any word from his parents; every time, the reply had been negative. At first, the silence had been unsurprising, given the length of time it took for ships to pass between Gacane and Teer Fradee, but it was beginning to become worrisome.

In fact, de Sardet was so used to hearing the same reply that she had expected de Morange to answer the same way, and was taken aback when she said, “Actually, we have. A packet of letters arrived aboard the Naut vessel _Sea Shrike._ These letters were written in reply to Governor d’Orsay’s last.”

“Do they make no mention of why it took them so long? There must have been half a dozen other ships from Serene in the months since we arrived.” De Sardet didn’t mean to sound annoyed, but thoughts of Serene made her think of her mother. “Surely they could have sent a few words on one of those ships. I know that Constantin wrote his father regularly.” He had taken that seriously as part of his gubernatorial duties: dispatches to Serene had to be regularly sent, and even if Constantin had no desire to be the dutiful son, he had wanted to be a good ruler.

“They did,” replied de Morange. “His Serene Highness’s letters make reference to having heard that his first packet of letters was lost. Apparently, he first attempted to send word to us immediately after having received the packet from Governor d’Orsay informing him of your safe arrival on the island.”

“I remember,” de Sardet said. Vasco’s ship, the _Sea Horse_ , had remained near the island, but the fleet that had sailed from Serene to Teer Fradee had been composed of three vessels: one had remained in Teer Fradee for less than a month before making the return journey to Serene, having made its repairs and re-provisioned with supplies. De Sardet had sent her own letter home aboard that ship, writing to her mother of her early journeys to Hikmet and San Matheus, hoping that her words might cheer her.

“Excuse me,” Vasco said. “You said the first packet was lost? What happened?”

Lady de Morange sighed. “I am sorry, Captain. I had hoped that Admiral Cabral might have informed you. Apparently, the ship that was commissioned to travel from Serene to New Serene with the prince’s reply sank and was lost with all hands. An unexpected storm, from what he said.”

“Which ship? Surely he wouldn’t have sent the _Fair Winds_ back so soon.” That had been the ship that they’d used to send their own letters home, along with a large amount of cargo from the island.

“No. I believe he said the ship was called the _Mermaid’s Kiss_.”

“That was Captain Alfonso’s ship,” Vasco said, still upset.

“Did you know him well?” de Sardet asked.

“By name and reputation. He was an able seaman when sober, but had a tendency to drink. He’d been disciplined for it before, and told that he’d be brought up on charges if he risked his crew by it again.” He shook his head. “The admiralty should have taken his command. Now, the sea’s taken him, and all his men with him.”

“I’m sorry, Vasco.”

“I was a friend of his first mate. Bartolomeo was sea-given, like me. We were midshipmen together on the _Far Horizon_ , under Captain Lavinia. He wanted that command, and he would have been a better captain than Alfonso. He deserved better.”

“I am sorry for your loss, Captain,” Lady de Morange spoke up. “By the time the prince had discovered the loss of the _Kiss_ , he had already received the most recent packet of letters from Governor d’Orsay. He then sent the _Sea Shrike_ with his replies.”

“He did send word to you as well as the governor, Your Excellency,” said Vaillancourt.

“Which I am sure you would prefer to hear privately.” Lady de Morange rose from her chair, clapping her hands together. “If the rest of you would leave us, please, I would prefer to address the legate privately.”

Although de Sardet had long expected the news, her heart began to race. “Mother,” she breathed, and felt her knees buckle.

Immediately, Kurt was at her side, offering her his arm. “Steady there, Green Blood,” he said. Outwardly, his demeanor betrayed nothing more than friendship, but as she turned toward him, she saw the concern in his eyes.

Lady de Morange waited until the last of the courtiers had filed out, the last Coin Guard closing the door after them, before she spoke. “I suppose we’ll get this over with first, then. As you suspect, your uncle did write to you of your mother.” Monsieur Vaillancourt produced a thick sheaf of parchment, neatly tied with string, and handed it to Lady de Morange. She untied it and leafed through the pages until she found the one she wanted, taking it from the stack.

Even before she offered it to de Sardet, she could see the black borders of the parchment. “No,” de Sardet whispered, and now her legs did falter beneath her; Kurt caught her, holding her perhaps more tightly than was proper, but she no longer had the presence of mind to care.

“Here,” said de Courcillon, and distantly de Sardet heard the sound of the shuffling of chairs. “Take this, please.”

She opened her eyes to the realization that Vasco had taken Sir de Courcillon’s chair from the dais and set it on the ground behind her; the next thing she knew, Kurt was easing her into it. Not wanting to let go of him entirely, she reached for his hand; again, some very distant part of her knew that it might draw the notice of one of the other three nobles, but her desire for comfort outweighed her desire to avoid scandal. For his part, Kurt didn’t try to pull away; instead, he squeezed back, and as she felt the warmth of his hand, she was grateful that he’d eschewed armored gauntlets or even thick gloves for their trip to the palace.

“Would you care to read the letter?” de Morange asked gently. “Or perhaps one of your friends would prefer to read it for you, if you believe it will be too difficult.”

“I will take it, if you’d like,” Petrus offered. Numbly, de Sardet nodded, and de Morange handed him the parchment.

He didn’t read it aloud; instead, he scanned it, summarizing the prince’s words for her. “Your uncle, the Prince d’Orsay, regrets to inform you that your mother passed away from the malichor less than a month after your departure. She was accorded a state funeral, as was her due, and the Court is observing several months of mourning to mark her loss. He sends his condolences, and wishes you to know that her last words were of you.”

“There was also another letter, from the Princess de Sardet herself,” de Morange said quietly.

“How?” de Sardet asked. “If she died so soon after our departure, shouldn’t her letter have been with the others, aboard the ship that was lost?”

“I do not know,” Lady de Morange admitted. “I did not wish to open the letter in order to read it, so I do not know if there is any explanation within. Perhaps it was only found within her personal effects after her death, and therefore could not be included in the first packet.”

“Or perhaps she didn’t write it,” Petrus said.

Monsieur Vaillancourt looked shocked. “Why would anyone forge a final letter from a mother to her child?”

“I would not presume to say,” Petrus replied, but de Sardet knew what the priest was thinking: her uncle’s machinations were always complex, and it might be part of a scheme she couldn’t yet fathom, being too far removed from the politics of the Congregation.

“The letter itself is sealed with the Princess de Sardet’s personal seal,” said de Morange, sounding slightly offended by Petrus’s suggestion. “There was a note indicating that it had been enclosed by Lady de Nicolet, not by the Prince d’Orsay or any of his functionaries.”

“Sylvie de Nicolet was devoted to my mother,” de Sardet remembered. The two women had grown up together, and among a court where few trusted one another, had been very nearly as close as Constantin d’Orsay and Alexandra de Sardet. She looked up, letting go of Kurt’s hand so she could reach for the letter. “Can I see it?”

Lady de Morange gave it to her. De Sardet examined the seal carefully, running her fingers along the wax. As she did, tears came to her eyes: the seal was a memory of home, every line reminding her of her mother. _When I was little, she used to let me play with that seal._ Jeanne de Sardet had written her letters, then let Alexandra stamp them; she’d delighted in the melting wax, and in the imprint the seal had made upon the paper.

Raising the paper to her nostrils, she inhaled deeply: the paper itself smelled of her mother’s favorite perfume, the rich scent of orange oil and cloves. Even now, after so many months at sea, the letter was still redolent of the smell.

“Mother,” she breathed, then remembered her childhood, before Court proprieties had replaced childish affection. “Oh, Maman…”

Tears slipped from beneath her eyelids, and she wiped them away with her sleeve before breaking the wax.

“‘My dearest Alexandra,’” she read, “‘By the time you read this, I will be dead. Even now, I am too ill to write; my hands shake, and all my strength has left me, so that I cannot even hold a quill. But Sylvie has agreed to act as my hands, and she has promised to get this letter into yours, so that I may speak to you one last time, and say what I did not have the courage to say when you left me. I have instructed her to send you this letter only after you have been on Teer Fradee for several months: long enough, I think, to realize what has been kept from you, and Augustin’s reasons for sending you to that island.’”

She nearly set down the paper. “That’s why,” she breathed. _She knew the truth._ De Sardet had told herself that her mother must have deceived herself into believing the lie, but Jeanne de Sardet had known. _The way she spoke of my father Alexandre, and of the way I looked so much like him…the miniature she showed me of his face, a mirror of mine…the portraits she had altered to show a greater resemblance between us…all the lengths she went to, to deceive me…and she knew, all the time._

It took a long moment before she could begin reading once more. “‘My beloved daughter, I hope you understand now why I asked you to go. I am glad that you chose to leave, though it means I will never see you again; I have long known that Augustin’s plans for you involved Teer Fradee, and his decision to send you from me now was not as cruel as you may have thought.’”

“‘As I write this, you are still on your journey, and have not yet seen your island’s shores. But as you read this, you will have been on Teer Fradee for many months, and I hope that you will find comfort in your true home.’” De Sardet swallowed: she knew that Lady de Morange, Sir de Courcillon, and even Monsieur Vaillancourt all knew the truth of her heritage, but reading it aloud was still difficult. “‘By now, you will surely have realized the truth. I am your mother, not by birth, but by love. Your uncle had the mother of your birth taken from the shores of that island, that you might serve as a bridge between our peoples when he sent our people to build a settlement there once more.’” _She even knew about the first settlement._

“‘I, who lost my Alexandre so young and so cruelly, was glad to raise a daughter who bore his name. In my loss, Augustin gave you to me, and you were my greatest comfort and my greatest joy. I could not have cherished any other child so much as I did you; from the first moment I saw you, I loved you, and swore I would make up for all that Augustin had taken from you, and all that I could not give back.’” 

“‘I have loved you as my own, as the child of my heart, if not my flesh, and despite all of my deceptions, I pray that you will remember me as your loving mother, who always wanted what was best for you. In Serene, such deceptions are as necessary as breathing; in New Serene, I hope that you will find a better life, where you may live freely, as a child of both worlds. I even pray that you may find a cure for the malichor, as you hope; it will come too late for me, but not for others. But even if you cannot, I send you to keep you safe, not only from the dangers of Serene but from the malichor itself, for I have heard that the island is not touched by the ravages of this wretched disease.’”

De Sardet nearly had to stop reading then; a sob rose in her throat, and she pressed a hand to her lips, hoping to stifle it before it emerged. _If she’d known,_ she thought, remembering the bitter taste of the fortifiers she’d taken upon debarking, the poisoned chalice tainted by Doctor Asili. _I’m immune. I could never have contracted the malichor, here or in Serene._ She touched the mark on her cheek, the sign of the connection that had saved her.

After a moment, she’d composed herself enough to continue. “‘Augustin hoped to shape you into a useful tool of state, to be yet another pawn to be moved about in his games, but my hopes for you have nothing to do with his political aspirations. My hopes are all for you: your happiness, your future, your life. I pray that New Serene will give you all I could have wanted for you; I hope there, you will find your own path, and make your own way.’”

“‘My beautiful daughter, my Alexandra, I pray that you will forgive me for all my lies, and know that even now, I cherish you more than anyone or anything in this life. I pray that you may forgive me for all my deceptions, and for not having the courage to tell you when last you came to see me. Forgive me, and if you will, think of me every time you look upon the family heirloom I bequeathed you, a token of both your mothers. Forgive me for not telling you its story sooner. Forgive me, and know you have my love, always. I pray I still have yours.’”

De Sardet had reached the end of the page. The handwriting had belonged to Lady de Nicolet, but the signature was her mother’s own, frail and shaking as it was. “‘Your loving mother, Jeanne, Princess de Sardet.’”

She traced the signature with her hand, one final connection to the only mother she had ever known, who she loved dearly even now; then, she folded the paper and tucked it in a pocket next to her heart. Only then did she realize that tears were streaming down her face, hot and wet. “Maman,” she breathed, and then a choking sob tore through her chest, and all she could do was weep. She buried her head in her hands, rocking back and forth as she took in the realization.

_She knew. She knew everything, but she never told me…but she loved me._ “Oh, Maman,” she said, wiping her face with her sleeve. “I forgive you.” She thought of how her mother must have died, alone in her rooms, ravaged by pain, blind and immobile. “I wish I could have been with you. I wish you had told me sooner.”

“I am truly sorry for your loss,” said Lady Morange. “Please, accept my condolences.”

“And mine,” said Vaillancourt.

“Before we left, your mother summoned me to her rooms. You know how unusual that was,” said de Courcillon. He was right: as soon as the effects of the malichor had made themselves known in her appearance, the Princess de Sardet had retired to her rooms, seeing few members of the Court. De Sardet knew it had been done at her brother’s behest: he didn’t want anyone seeing his sister debilitated and stricken by the disease. “She implored me to look after you. She feared that you would spend so much time looking after your cousin that you would leave no time for yourself.”

De Courcillon paused. “She told me that she hoped you would spend more time away from New Serene, so that when the order finally came to recall your cousin from the governorship, that you would not be so unhappy if you were ordered to remain.”

“My uncle did not intend for me to return to Serene,” de Sardet said. Despite everything, it was an entirely new revelation. “You are saying that he would have commanded Constantin to return…but asked me to stay behind?”

“I am not privy to the details of your uncle’s plans,” Sir de Courcillon hedged fretfully. “As I have told you—”

“Yes,” Lady de Morange interrupted. “Governor d’Orsay’s stay here was always to be temporary. From the moment I received the dispatch announcing that I was to be relieved of my duties as governor and that Lord d’Orsay was to be my replacement, I knew His Serene Highness’s reasons: he wished to make something of his son, and New Serene would be the safest place to test his abilities.”

“Even in New Serene, I have kept abreast of politics. Even when I left Serene, it was common knowledge that the Prince d’Orsay was disappointed in his only son and heir. Governor d’Orsay was twenty-six when he arrived, and had done nothing with his life but drink, dice, and whore in the city slums.” At seeing Monsieur Vaillancourt’s shock, she raised a hand, as if to stop his protests. “It is a harsh assessment, I know, and I would not speak so plainly of the dead in any other company, but we all know it is true.”

“Constantin was so much more than that,” de Sardet protested, feeling the need to defend him. “He dreamt of improving life in Serene. He had so many plans for what he would do once he’d succeeded his father. He painted. He fenced. He—”

“He dabbled in a thousand things, and persisted at none,” said de Morange. “He was flighty, whimsical, temperamental. He used his power to hurt those he perceived as having slighted him; he held grudges, and could lash out long after the other party had forgotten their offense. Those would not be positive traits in any man, but a future prince of the Congregation – in a man who his father hoped would succeed him as _the_ prince of the Congregation – they are downright dangerous.”

“He was always kind to me,” de Sardet said. 

“He was kind to you, and could be viciously cruel to others,” Lady de Morange replied. “Even before I left for New Serene, I remember an incident at Court between him and another boy. It must have been ten years ago at least, now, but I clearly remember that he stabbed him repeatedly during a of fencing match, even after the other boy had surrendered. He would have put out his eye if Captain Kurt hadn’t stopped him.” She nodded to Kurt. “Surely you remember.”

“How could I forget?” Kurt answered. “Atherton d’Ailes. It wasn't a fencing match, it was a duel. He had insulted Constantin at a party. He was an insufferable little prick, but His Highness could be just as bad. Constantin challenged him to a duel to demand satisfaction for the insult, but it went too far. He’d already laid one cheek open after he got him flat on his back; he stabbed him twice before I could wrestle the foil out of his hands. I thought he’d take a stab at me, too, but he stood down.”

“His father confined him to his rooms for a month,” de Sardet remembered. “He wasn’t sorry, though.”

“He never was,” said Kurt.

“Incidents like that concerned His Serene Highness,” said Lady de Morange. “But he was far more concerned by Lord d’Orsay’s failure to take any interest in helping him rule Serene.”

“The prince thought that sending Constantin away might help him grow into his own. He felt that the Court was a poor influence on him, and that he might learn responsibility if he felt himself the sole authority in the region,” de Courcillon offered.

“New Serene was to be his playground,” said de Morange; de Sardet thought she heard a touch of resentment in her voice. “I was to be demoted to the role of advisor, to guide him, and even to rule in his place, should he abdicate his responsibility completely.”

“That is why I came,” said Sir de Courcillon. “To teach Constantin, if I could, and to aid Lady de Morange with the administration of the island if I could not. Lady Morange would handle the governance of the city, while Monsieur Vaillancourt and I would provide assistance in the administration of foreign and domestic affairs. As would you,” he added. “Your uncle had a very low opinion of Constantin’s abilities, but he always thought more highly of you. He believed that your role as legate would do a great deal to soothe the natives, and that you would be capable enough to handle diplomacy with both Theleme and the Bridge.”

“He was certainly correct,” said Vaillancourt. “In truth, we have not had to do nearly as much as I expected. Lady de Morange and I discussed the matter before your arrival, and we were both pleasantly surprised.”

“Though you cannot have appreciated the demotion,” Vasco said to Lady de Morange. “When Admiral Cabral took my ship from me, it was not easy. I know it must have been hard for you.”

“It certainly was,” agreed de Morange. “The Prince d’Orsay told me that, if I chose to stay, my role would be to help guide the new governor, to ensure that all my hard work would not go to waste. Of course I stayed; I have watched this city grow, coaxed it into thriving, and I could not bear the thought of it falling into ruin.”

“Constantin would not have ruined it! He had such plans…if he had never become ill…”

“I agree,” said de Morange; the softness of her tone surprised de Sardet enough that she looked up, into the older woman’s eyes. “I must admit, Governor d’Orsay surprised me. From what I had remembered of him, and what his father had written, I expected a dissolute, disinterested scion of a noble family, content to waste his days drinking or visiting the Coin brothels, or perhaps playing at governance from time to time. What I found was an intelligent, idealistic young man who was interested in learning everything he could, and who genuinely wanted to do everything he could to make this settlement prosper.”

“He was disappointed in the realities of governing, of course. I came to realize that he thought of his father as being all-powerful, able to change minds and implement plans with the snap of a finger or a signed decree; he didn’t realize the hours of tedium that go into executing any plan, the compromises that must be made, the pompous fools who must be listened to and the self-interested, avaricious courtiers who must be brought into line. I tried to teach him the necessity of all of this, and to make him see that not even the most powerful of the merchant-princes of the Congregation is not an absolute ruler; even the sultan of the Bridge must listen to his advisors, and even Her Supreme Holiness of Theleme must sometimes concede to the Conclave of Cardinals.”

“He was learning, Your Excellency, and he was ruling, and ruling well. Even after his diagnosis, he continued to attend to matters of state quite diligently; he insisted on struggling through his pain, refusing to delegate his duties to myself or his other advisors.” Laurine de Morange bowed her head. “Had he never been afflicted with the malichor, I do believe he would have grown into a man who would have made his father proud.”

“I agree,” said Sir de Courcillon. “I was Constantin’s tutor for more than twenty years. I believe he learned more in his months on the island than he did in all the years of my tutelage. He applied himself more diligently than I had ever seen.”

“He felt himself free of his father,” said de Sardet. “Even watching him get onto the ship, it was as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.” She paused. “I know that Kurt brought him back to New Serene. Can I see him?”

“Are you certain you want to, Your Excellency? He has been dead for over a fortnight. The natives did something to preserve him, but even so, I fear that mortification has begun to take its course.” Vaillancourt spread his hands. “I am glad you returned when you did. Lady Morange did not wish to cremate him until you had returned, but we are keeping him in a locked room in the cellar, and even with the cooler temperatures, the smell…”

“We had a doctor prepare an autopsy report,” said Lady de Morange. “It will reflect that Governor d’Orsay was suffering from the ravages of the malichor, and that his death was caused by the ritual he attempted in Credhenes.”

“Did that doctor actually perform an autopsy?” Kurt asked. De Sardet could hear the edge in his voice as he spoke. “If he kept any notes of his own, or thinks that someone would pay for his findings—”

“I prepared the report,” Aphra interrupted. “Don’t look so surprised; I did study under Doctor Asili. I prefer the study of botany, but I am well-versed in medicine. The report will show that your cousin died from an overload of magical energies: he tried to perform a ritual he wasn’t prepared for, and the backlash killed him. It looked as if his heart gave out, although it might also have caused a cataleptic fit.” She folded her arms across her chest. “If the Prince d’Orsay wants to question me, I’m willing to defend my findings.”

“I didn’t realize you were even in the city when I brought Constantin’s body back,” Kurt said. “I thought you’d gone to Hikmet.”

“I did go to Hikmet, but I stopped here afterwards. We weren’t in the city at the same time; I actually arrived in New Serene the day after you left. Governor Burhan asked me to convey his regards to the governor of New Serene, whoever that might be, so I didn’t have a choice in the matter. But once I was here, I overheard Lady de Morange and Monsieur Vaillancourt talking about the Prince d’Orsay expecting an autopsy, and realized I could help.”

“Thank you, Aphra,” said de Sardet.

“We all know you did a very difficult thing,” Lady de Morange said, very quietly. De Sardet knew she must know the truth: Constantin’s wounds could not have been concealed. “However, it was entirely necessary, and in doing so, you saved us all.”

“We all saw that Constantin’s behavior had become…erratic,” said de Courcillon.

“Mad,” Vaillancourt supplied. “He was entirely mad. All his talk of unlimited power, of native magics, the wild hinting at grand plans…and those growths on his head, those branches…” He touched his head, then flinched back as he saw Siora glowering at him.

“He would have killed us all,” said Siora. “He was _renaigse_ , and could not understand that the power of our island was not for taking. He could not give of himself, and because of it, he would have destroyed us all.”

“I have kept his study locked,” said Lady de Morange. “I thought of burning his papers myself, but then I thought perhaps you would prefer to do it yourself. I have set aside certain papers that I thought ought to be saved, if only to give the Prince d’Orsay some insight into his son’s mind, but I would appreciate a second opinion.”

De Sardet nodded. “Are you sure, Green Blood?” Kurt asked her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Let Sir de Courcillon do it, or Bishop Petrus.”

De Sardet put her hand over his. “No,” she said, leaning her head against his arm. “I’ll do it. It will be like hearing his voice one last time.”

“It won’t be like the letter from your mother,” Kurt warned her. “You’ve seen what he was writing. You know—”

“Yes,” she said, remembering the fragments she’d read while searching his study and his hideaway outside the city. “But…it will help remind me why I did what I did. That I made the right choice.” She released Kurt’s hand, and he didn’t protest further.

“We’ll help you,” Vasco offered. “All of us, if you want. I’m no politician; I don’t know what it is you’ll want to keep. But I’m sure there’s too much of it to read on your own.”

“I cannot read your language,” Siora said. “But I will stay with you, _carants_ , and help however I can.”

De Sardet nodded, then looked back to Lady de Morange. “All of this can wait, of course,” said de Morange. “Now that you’ve returned, our first order of business will be to bury him. All the city knows that he is dead, and rumors have been flying almost since the battle itself. Although no soldiers from the Congregation participated in the battle at Dorhadgenedu, news travels fast; we had word from both Nauts and the Coin Guard by the evening after the battle took place, though it was confused, as all such early reports are.”

“The city knows he died, but not how: some believed that the malichor finally claimed him, while others say that he fell in battle, and others still believe that the ritual he attempted to perform overwhelmed him. It is generally known that Constantin went mad and somehow led an attack against the natives, though they are rather confused about his reasons why and exactly what force he was leading. There are even rumors that he had become a _doneigad_ and learned to command the island’s creatures, but those are generally dismissed out of hand. Most people did not see Constantin after you rescued him from the High King, after all.”

“Well, they’ll see soon enough, won’t they?” asked Aphra.

“That depends,” said Kurt. “Are you planning on putting him up on a pyre like the one they had in the Prince’s Place, or are you going to do it privately?”

“The latter,” said Lady de Morange. “At least, that is what we had planned. I thought to ask your opinion.”

“We thought it would hardly be politic to hold a more public funeral,” added Vaillancourt, the diplomatic affairs advisor. “Given how the governor died, it might offend our allies. They might believe that we condoned his actions.”

“They could hardly believe that,” said Aphra. “At least, not if Legate de Sardet is there. They know that she was essential in stopping him.”

De Courcillon looked pained. “Even so…there is a delicate balance to be struck.”

“The Prince d’Orsay can better decide how best to honor his son. If he wishes to hold a funeral in Serene, it might be better.” Lady de Morange hesitated. “I also thought that a private immolation might be better, if only to keep anyone else from seeing him. The marks of the malichor would be expected, of course, but the other markings, and the branches…”

“Of course, if you insisted on a public funeral, they could be…trimmed,” said de Courcillon, looking uncomfortable. “We could arrange his hair very carefully…a helmet would be impossible, of course, but perhaps a hat…and of course the wood of the pyre would serve to obfuscate the growths…”

“The markings of the _on ol menawi_ could be attributed to Catasach’s attempted cure,” Lady de Morange added, “or perhaps to the ritual he attempted at Credhenes.”

“Letting multiple rumors flourish will obfuscate the truth quite effectively,” Petrus observed. He glanced sideways at de Sardet. “However, I would tend to agree with Lady de Morange, Sir de Courcillon, and Monsieur Vaillancourt: a private funeral would perhaps be better than a public one, particularly given the circumstances of his death. Given your service in saving this island, if I told Cornelia that you had insisted, I doubt she would protest overly much; however, there are certainly factions within her court that would use any public funeral to inflame public opinion against the Congregation.”

“Governor Burhan would love an excuse to be angry,” Aphra agreed. “You’ve upset too many of his plans.” She paused. “I may have reminded him that it was a prominent citizen of the Bridge who was to blame for murdering your cousin in the first place, and that if we wanted to retain your friendship, we ought to overlook a memorial service, but he wasn’t very pleased with me for suggesting it.”

“‘Reminded?’” Petrus asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

“You may be more welcome in Governor Burhan’s palace than I am, now,” Aphra said, answering with a slight half-smile. “I told him that if he wanted someone to speak to him more diplomatically, maybe he should stop turning a blind eye to people trying to kill Legate de Sardet. And that next time, he should send a real legate to New Serene instead of expecting me to do it.”

“I suspect he will,” Petrus answered.

“Don’t anger him further,” said de Sardet. She felt a heaviness on her heart, and realized that some part of her had still hoped that Constantin could have a public funeral, and be honored as the governor of the city he had so cherished. _Some part of me wanted to think that he could be remembered somewhere, by someone, for more than his final actions._ Even in New Serene, they would only remember that their young governor had gone mad and died in a futile attack against his own allies, abandoning his people in the foolish hope of finding a cure for the malichor. “There’s no sense in angering our allies.” _Perhaps my uncle will hold a true funeral in Serene._

“Then we will hold the ceremony tomorrow, with your agreement,” said Lady de Morange.

“So soon?”

“Everything is prepared; we have been waiting for you,” said Sir de Courcillon. “We knew that you would wish to be present.”

“His remains will be returned to his father on the next ship to Serene,” added de Morange. “However, before we send them back, I wish to include a full packet of letters, detailing everything that has happened here since Governor d’Orsay’s last dispatch; I also believe that I ought to send a letter detailing the current condition of the city, with the interim arrangements for the city’s governance.”

Here, she paused, and de Sardet realized she seemed to be waiting for something. “Surely you’ll take up your position again,” she said. Seeing de Courcillon and Vaillancourt exchange looks, her brow furrowed. “That’s what you want…isn’t it?”

“Certainly,” said de Morange. “However, I thought that perhaps you might have other opinions?”

Her mind still clouded with grief, her thoughts still lingering on her mother’s letter and on thoughts of Constantin, it took de Sardet a moment to catch her meaning. “No,” she said. “I can’t.”

“Your uncle may begrudgingly accept me as interim governor, but I will certainly never hold the role permanently. He fears that I will gain too much power here, unopposed, and set myself up as a rival. Teer Fradee is too far away from Serene and too rich to be placed in the hands of any save a member of his own family. I am certain that, once he was ready for Constantin to return to Serene, he would have appointed you as governor in his place.”

De Sardet looked down at her mother’s letter. _She knew more than she ever told me._ She looked to de Courcillon. “She told you that she imagined a day when Constantin would be recalled to Serene and I would not. Did you know?”

“I have told you, questions about the Prince d’Orsay’s plans are best asked of the prince himself,” de Courcillon fretted. “But…as to your education, the lessons of ruling he wished to have both of you taught…”

“He wanted to raise me to become his representative on Teer Fradee. First as legate, then governor.” She’d had the thoughts before, when she’d first learned of how she had come to Serene, but voicing them aloud made her more certain, turning theory into truth.

“If you proved capable,” said Lady de Morange. “Which you certainly have. Your role in choosing Dunncas as High King will certainly make him proud.”

“Are you sure?” asked Vaillancourt, stroking his goatee. “My background is in trade, not the natives’ affairs, but it seems to me that Ullan would have been more amenable to opening new avenues for trade with the natives.”

“Ullan would have sold his own people to the _renaigse_ for gold,” Siora interjected scornfully.

“Ullan may be friendly to our faces, but he was willing to deceive and manipulate me for his own benefit,” de Sardet replied. “Dunncas has always dealt fairly with me, and I believe he will be a more trustworthy ally.”

“I agree with Lady de Sardet and Princess Siora,” said Lady de Morange. “From what I know of the native clans, Dunncas will be a far better leader than Ullan. I believe that the Prince d’Orsay will realize that, as well. Ullan might have offered more in overt gain, but he would have been glad to play us against the Bridge and Theleme. No, Your Excellency, I believe that your uncle will approve of your choice, and that your reasons for installing him in that position give credit to your own foresight.”

Unlike Constantin, de Sardet had never sought her uncle’s approval; he had always been a distant, fearsome figure looming over her life, always in the background. Generally, she had never thought that he had taken much notice of her, unless it was to praise her for having helped Constantin in some way, or to point out to Constantin that he ought to be more like his cousin.

“And my mother?” she found herself asking. “What have I done that would make her proud?”

Laurine de Morange gave her a sad smile. “Look around you,” she replied. “You are surrounded by friends who would live and die for you, just as you would live and die for them. How many nobles of Serene can say they have five companions they trust so completely?”

“This is what your mother hoped you would find,” agreed Henri de Courcillon. “Friendship. A position of your own, independent of Constantin. A home where you would never have to spend your life worrying about some courtier’s plot or an assassin’s blade.”

_Where the malichor could never touch me._ That sent a fresh pang of grief through her.

“Your mother would be very proud of you, Lady de Sardet,” said de Morange. “Your uncle will be, as well, though for very different reasons. He may well choose to appoint you as his governor once word travels to Serene and back.”

“But it doesn’t have to happen yet,” said de Sardet. “I don’t want to take his place.” She looked past Lady Morange, to the empty throne behind her, and tried to imagine herself sitting upon that chair. “I’d prefer to remain legate, at least for a while.”

“In the meantime, if you wish to allay the Prince d’Orsay’s fears, perhaps you ought to tell him that you have established a ruling council of sorts,” Petrus suggested. “A triumvirate of yourself, Sir de Courcillon, and Monsieur Vaillancourt.”

“The prince will see through that in an instant.”

“But he may appreciate that you have made the effort. If you wish, you could even say that you have invited Legate de Sardet into your councils. I am sure that will be true enough, given time.”

“I don’t want to be governor,” de Sardet said again. _I don’t want to be my uncle’s pawn. I want to have my own life, free of whatever he intended._

“Do you intend to return to Serene?”

“No,” she said immediately.

“Your uncle’s letter did mention the reading of her will, and that she had left all her worldly fortune to you, Legate de Sardet,” said Vaillancourt. “It was entirely expected, of course, but you may need to return to Serene in order to claim your inheritance.”

“Will you be a princess?” Vasco asked her.

“I don’t know,” said de Sardet. The title was hereditary, but her uncle knew her true heritage, and she could hardly see him giving the title of Princess de Sardet to a woman who had no claim to it by blood. “I doubt it.”

“Why not? Your mother said it herself: you are her beloved daughter, the only child of herself and Prince Alexandre de Sardet. Titles pass from mother to daughter as easily as from father to son.”

“You were her daughter, Green Blood,” said Kurt. “She may not have birthed you, but she loved you.” From the way he spoke, de Sardet knew he was thinking of his own adoptive mother, the camp follower who’d cared for him until he was old enough to hold a sword.

“I know,” she said. “But she’s gone now, and my uncle—”

“Your uncle will want to ensure you remain a valued member of his family,” Petrus said. “The de Sardet title and fortune are yours, and he could hardly disinherit you without bringing scandal upon himself and his late sister’s memory. I suppose that he will make his will known in his next letter.”

“Which will take at least eight months to arrive,” said Vaillancourt. “More likely nine, given that one ship isn’t likely to leave the moment another has docked.”

“We should have a quiet winter,” said de Morange. “I think we all will need it. But first, we’ll need to hold our service for Governor d’Orsay, make sure that our allies are all placated, and hope that life returns to normal.”

De Sardet rose from her chair; her legs were still shaky beneath her, but not so unsteady that she feared falling. “I want to see my cousin,” she said.


	21. Chapter 21

They took her to the basement of the palace, to the cellar room where she’d once hidden Constantin away with the rest of his advisors.

Constantin’s papers, like his body, was kept under lock and key: several locks, in fact. The door that led to the stairwell was locked, as was the door that to the underground hallway, as was the door to the cellar room itself. The final door had a double lock; de Sardet had seen such an arrangement only rarely, requiring two keys to be inserted simultaneously in order to gain entrance. Members of the Coin Guard were stationed at each position as well, a pair at each door. Most of them looked tired and faintly bored with the duty, though they all snapped to attention the moment they saw the captain of their guard accompanying such a large contingent of nobles and foreign dignitaries.

“Guards, you may wait at the end of the hall,” Kurt ordered. “Give the legate some privacy.” The guards nodded and obeyed.

“You have kept the other members of the Coin Guard away? Does this mean that we will be the only ones to have seen the body?” asked Petrus. 

Kurt nodded. “I brought him down here first thing, and hand-picked each of the guards myself for the duty,” he said as they moved away. “I made sure they knew their orders. None of them would let anyone through. As far as they know, they’re meant to keep anyone from desecrating the body, but they also know I’d have their heads if they let anyone pass, no matter who they were. They knew no one was to set eyes on the body.”

“Don’t they find the secrecy suspicious?” Vasco asked. “Doesn’t the Congregation usually have its nobles lie in state after they die?”

“Not when they’ve died of the malichor,” said de Sardet. Again, her thoughts went to her mother. “Anyone who’s been afflicted with the malichor is kept hidden away, both in life and in death. As soon as the symptoms start to manifest…if Constantin had been taken ill in Serene, he would have had to hide himself in his rooms months ago.”

“I spoke of that to him once, in passing,” said Lady de Morange. “While you were traveling between San Matheus, Hikmet, and Vigyigidaw, looking for healers. His reaction was such that I never raised the subject again.”

“His temper was fierce,” agreed Vaillancourt. “He said that he was governor here, and that he would establish his own customs.”

“He wanted to work for as long as he was able,” said de Sardet. “It wasn’t in Constantin’s nature to stay locked up in a room, waiting to die.” 

“In any case, no one’s tried to pass,” said Kurt. “I’ve checked in with the guards daily. They won’t say it to my face, but it’s clear they think it’s excessive to have half a dozen of them guarding over a dead body in a locked room.”

Lady de Morange reached for a ring of keys on her belt. “In addition to the guard, we placed the body under lock and key as soon as Captain Kurt returned with it. At present, Sir de Courcillon, Monsieur Vaillancourt, and I are the only ones who have the keys for this room, and at least two of us must be present to open the door. The governor’s study is under a similar arrangement.” Reaching onto her belt, she detached a single key, handing it to de Sardet. “Here is a key to the study for you, Your Excellency. Any one of us will be glad to accompany you whenever you should require it.”

“Should she have to have you at her side to see her cousin’s papers?” Aphra asked as de Courcillon inserted his key into the lock, turning it; at the same time, Vaillancourt did the same with his own. “Do you trust her so little?”

Lady de Morange looked offended. “We trust Lady de Sardet implicitly.” She looked to de Sardet. “We will, of course, be glad to leave you alone both here and in his study, and provide you with all the keys you require to gain entrance to either location, without requiring further aid from any of us.”

“Your friends, of course, may join you,” Vaillancourt added hastily, opening the door and ushering them inside. Sir de Courcillon was the first inside, as only he had Monsieur Vaillancourt had carried lanterns with them, but de Sardet was quick to follow; she thought that if she hesitated, she might lose heart.

The room had altered from the last time de Sardet had seen it, while the bed was still in one corner, the chairs that had surrounded the table at the center of the room had been removed, stacked off to one side, and there were more storage crates than she remembered, as well as a long table that had been pushed against one wall. That table was adorned with several candlesticks; as Vaillancourt closed the door, she soon realized why, as the room was plunged into near-darkness. 

As Vaillancourt moved to the table, using the flame from his own lantern to light each candle and lantern in the room, her eyes fell upon the largest change in the room: the table at the room’s center now had a body laid upon it, covered in a heavy white sheet. _Constantin._ Even now, she could see the outline of the branches that had grown from his head after his transformation into an _on ol menawi_.

“I would offer you a key to this room, but after today, there would be little point.” Lady de Morange gestured to Constantin. “Lady Aphra performed her autopsy and did what she could to preserve the body; in the interests of secrecy, she also washed and dressed him in the clothing you see now. Sir de Courcillon and I locked the room together as soon as she was done, and no one else has been permitted to see him since.”

“When Lady Aphra performed the autopsy, we were still discussing what we ought to do with his body,” said Vaillancourt. He looked profoundly uncomfortable; even now, he kept his gaze averted from the sheet-covered table, though nothing was visible. “We’ve left those…branches…atop his head, but we’ve debated whether or not we ought to remove them before consigning his body to the pyre.”

“Why? They’ll burn with the rest of him, won’t they?” asked Kurt. He looked to Siora. “You would know best of any of us, pretty twig – are they bark or bone?”

“Neither. They are a part of us, and part of the island,” Siora replied. “But they will burn away like wood.” 

“They’re more like roots than branches,” Aphra offered. “During the autopsy, when I cut them, they bled. They’re heavily vascularized, at least beneath those hardened outer layers. In fact, they’re harder than either roots or tree bark; they almost remind me of antlers, although Siora is right: they certainly aren’t bone.” She looked to de Sardet. “If you’d like me to saw them off, I can.” 

Siora flinched. Noticing her reaction, Aphra asked, “The physical changes reflect your bond to the island, do they not? I would think that you would be happy to see Constantin’s branches removed, to show that he’s no longer connected to your land.”

“Had Vinbarr successfully completed his ritual, they would have withered and fallen away,” said Siora. “But to cut them…” She shuddered, reflexively lifting a hand to her head in a protective gesture; it was a visceral reaction, de Sardet thought, the way a man would move a hand to cover his groin at the mention of castration. “Even to lose them in an accident invites pity, and there are those who would grieve for such a loss more than a hand or a foot.”

“I can do it,” Aphra repeated. “If you’d like. I’m not sure if you’d prefer him to look more as he did before.”

“No,” said de Sardet. She looked down at Constantin. “It isn’t necessary. There’s no reason.” _It isn’t as if he’ll need to look presentable before a crowd._ Even if his branches had been removed, she knew that there was no way he would ever have looked as he had before both malichor and ritual.

“We had debated what he ought to wear,” said Lady de Morange. She nodded to the wardrobe at the back of the room, and to a trunk next to it. “I had a set of ceremonial armor brought down – not the armor he was wearing when he died, of course – and several of his best doublets.”

“Many princes of the Congregation have chosen to be buried in ceremonial armor,” said Vaillancourt.

“Mostly those who had distinguished themselves on the battlefield, or who died in wartime,” de Courcillon replied. 

“Given how he died, I would think our allies would see it in poor taste,” said de Morange.

“I thought a helm might serve to disguise his face. The markings of the natives’ ritual, the markings of the malichor, the…” Again, Vaillancourt made a vague gesture around his head with one hand, then looked fretfully at Siora. “You know.”

“I doubt he would be able to wear a helm,” de Sardet replied.

“If you wanted him to, he could,” Aphra replied. “It’s up to you. It isn’t as if you have to worry about dressing him for a public display; no one else will see.” 

De Sardet nodded. “No armor,” she said. _I don’t want to remember him like that._ Constantin had never gone to war, and the only time he’d worn armor in earnest, outside the training yard, had been after he’d gone mad. “He always loved his finery. The navy and red doublet with the gold brocade, the one he had made especially when his father appointed him governor…that’s what he should wear.”

“That’s in there,” said Lady de Morange, nodding to a trunk at the foot of the bed. “Someone will have to dress him.”

“I can do it,” said Kurt. He looked to de Sardet, and she could see what he was thinking: he didn’t want her to have to lift Constantin’s shirt, to see the stab wound she’d inflicted. “You don’t want to see him like that, Green Blood.”

“I am a priest. I’ve performed the rites for the dead many times,” said Petrus. “I would be glad to do this for you, my child.”

“I performed the autopsy,” said Aphra. “I can certainly dress him.” She paused. “I agree with Kurt, anyway: you shouldn’t do it.”

“Let Aphra,” said Vasco. “She’s right: she’s done the autopsy already.”

“I’ll do it once you leave,” Aphra agreed. “You shouldn’t have to see him that way.”

Only Siora didn’t say anything: de Sardet knew that, among Siora’s people, the closest relative was responsible for washing and preparing the body before it was returned to the earth. _Our customs must seem so strange to her,_ thought de Sardet, but when she looked to Siora, she saw no disapproval, only understanding.

“Are you ready, _carants_?” Siora asked her, gesturing to the sheet. “We are all here with you.”

De Sardet took a deep breath. “I’m ready,” she said, though in her heart she didn’t think she could ever have prepared. Aphra pulled away the sheet, revealing Constantin’s body.

Constantin was wearing a white linen tunic with dark trousers. For a moment, she thought it might have been the clothing he’d worn beneath his armor at Credhenes, but then she realized that the shirt was far too clean, and that there was no tear or rip where his dagger would have cut through.

_It looks like what he wore under his doublet our last day in Serene,_ she thought, _when I found him in those warehouses._ It felt like another lifetime. _Hearing him singing about wine and immortality…what I wouldn’t give to hear him singing again now._ He was laid out upon the table with his arms at his side, his eyes closed. She took a step closer, peering at him in the candlelight.

Reaching out, she trailed a finger along the green veins that lined his face. _He was so happy to share the markings. He thought it would make us look more alike._ Even that thought now made de Sardet shudder. _He wanted us to be the same. He wanted me to be a part of him…not in the way of_ minundhanem _, of sharing, of each person being a complementary piece of the other, but in a way that would have left nothing of myself._ Looking back, she could see the madness his enthusiasm had concealed, and wept at her own blindness. _I was so happy he was well, so willing to believe he was cured. I would have overlooked anything._

Her fingers moved to the traces the malichor had wrought, the black veins beneath the green. _Did the malichor corrupt you? Did the fear of dying turn to a need for power over life and death itself? Or was it Catasach’s cure?_ She could recognize now that there had always been a part of her cousin she had never wanted to acknowledge: it was the part of him that had always called her “ _my_ fair cousin,” seeing her as a thing to possess rather than a person in her own right. It was the part that had been unable to share in her happiness in falling in love with Kurt because it meant there was a part of her Constantin himself would never share; it was the part that had extended a hand to de Sardet, unable to fathom that she had friends in the world she cherished as much as Constantin, and that she had desires and aims separate from his own.

Even so, she still loved him. _There was a part of me that would have joined you, and lost myself. If I had never developed such close friendships with Siora and Aphra, if I had never found a brother and friend in Vasco, if Petrus had never told me the truth about my mother, if I had never fallen in love with Kurt…if Teer Fradee had not changed me, if I hadn’t become my own person in these last months, then I might have joined you._ She had seen that, too, and the ruin it would have wrought, and the way that Constantin would have destroyed her, the only person he had ever truly loved.

_You were my only friend._ She felt the coolness of his skin, matching the temperature of the cool air around them. Some of her earliest memories were of playing in the palace with Constantin, chasing him through the hallways as her mother chided them to stop. She thought of the little boy she’d known, eager for his father’s approval and his mother’s love; she remembered the way he’d been so envious of her own relationship with her mother, the affection that Jeanne de Sardet had lavished upon her only daughter. _She was kind to Constantin, but he knew it wasn’t the same._

She remembered the troublemaking boy who’d scaled the city walls. “Come down, Constantin,” she’d begged him. She’d been eight, Constantin nine, and she’d been utterly terrified even as she climbed after him.

Constantin had been utterly fearless, heedless of the danger, and of the terrified spectators below. “I’m going to prove Father wrong. I’m going to make it to the top!”

“Please, come down. You don’t have to prove him wrong. Look how high you’ve come.” De Sardet hadn’t wanted to look down; they’d been terrifyingly high up already, and Constantin was determined to climb higher still.

“But Father said—”

“You can blame it all on me.” De Sardet remembered her tenuous grasp on the wall, how windy it had been, how uneasy her footing. “If you go up there, I can’t follow.”

“Yes, you can. Take my hand!” He’d actually taken one hand from the wall to reach out to her.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” she said, clinging all the more tightly to her own precarious handholds. “You might make it, but I never will. Please, Constantin, don’t leave me behind.”

That had convinced him. “All right,” he’d said, and they’d descended together. De Sardet still remembered how pale her mother had been, and how tightly she’d hugged her the moment her feet had touched the ground. Jeanne de Sardet had covered her daughter in kisses, sobbing with relief; only then did Constantin seem to realize that they’d been in any danger, shuffling his feet as he looked at Alexandra and her mother.

Constantin’s own parents’ reactions had been very different. Heloise d’Orsay had been the first of the two to make her way through the crowd; when she’d sighted Constantin, she’d immediately launched into a furious tirade about his stupidity, his short-sightedness, and the danger he’d put himself in for no reason. _Her only true concern was that he might have died, and that she would lose all the influence that came with being the mother of the heir._

The Prince d’Orsay, on the other hand, had showed no emotion as he followed her: neither relief, nor anger, nor happiness at seeing his son alive and unharmed. Even at eight, de Sardet had seen how Constantin had changed upon seeing his father: the fearlessness and determination that had defined him as he’d scaled the walls had vanished, replaced by an uncertain little boy who was very much afraid of his father.

De Sardet had broken away from her mother then, interposing herself between them before the Prince d’Orsay could speak to his son.

“Please, Your Serene Highness, don’t punish him. He only wanted to make it to the top, like you said.”

Augustin d’Orsay had raised an eyebrow. “Like I said?”

“You told me I would never climb the ladder if I didn’t start behaving in a noble fashion,” Constantin interrupted, doing a credible impression of his father. “I wanted to show you I could make it to the top, just as I am. I was going to prove you don’t have to behave nobly to climb so high.”

Augustin d’Orsay closed his eyes as he exhaled slowly. “You…were trying…to climb the ladder,” he said slowly.

“To show you,” said de Sardet.

His gaze moved to de Sardet. “And you went after him.”

“To get him to come down. It was scary up there, and I thought he would fall. I was scared I’d fall, too.”

“Yet you followed.”

“I had to. He’s my friend.” De Sardet had been nearly as terrified of her uncle then as she’d been thirty feet above the ground, but she’d mustered her courage and said, “If you punish him, you should punish me too, because I went up the wall after him.”

Augustin d’Orsay regarded her for a long moment. Looking back, she thought now that she might have seen a twitch of his lips that was very nearly a smile, but at the time she’d been too intimidated to notice. “Well, we certainly can’t have that, can we?” He looked to Constantin. “Promise me that you’ll never try such a foolish thing again.”

“But—I climbed—”

“Promise me,” said Augustin d’Orsay. He didn’t raise his voice, but the look in his eyes was terrible to behold. It was a look that had made even battle-hardened commanders and the most refined courtiers quail; a nine-year-old boy had no chance.

“I promise,” Constantin said in a very small voice. “But – aren’t you proud of me, Father? I could have made it.”

The Prince d’Orsay hadn’t answered.

Later that night, the Princess de Sardet had held her daughter tightly. “You did a very brave thing today, Alexandra,” she told her. “You saved your cousin’s life. I am so very proud of you.”

Alexandra de Sardet doubted that Constantin had ever heard the same from his own parents. _Did anyone ever tell him they loved him? Did anyone ever praise him? Did he ever hear anyone say that they were proud of him?_ Sir de Courcillon had often praised Constantin’s intelligence, but rarely his work; Constantin was always doing his best to get out of lessons, using his ingenuity to come up with ways to cheat or paying off other young noblemen to do his work for him. _The number of under-tutors he drove away…I think poor Sir de Courcillon himself nearly quit more than once._

She thought of the boy who’d been the terror of the schoolroom, of the tutors he’d driven away, and of their first meeting with Kurt: the eleven-year-old Constantin sizing him up, needling him, trying to order him around, only for the nineteen-year-old Kurt to be entirely unimpressed. _Kurt turned twenty not long after. I thought he was so old._ De Sardet had been only ten, and to her, it had seemed that the new master-at-arms had lived an entire lifetime already. Meanwhile, Constantin, who had heard his father’s courtiers commenting on the master-at-arms’ youth, had mocked Kurt endlessly. “You’re not that big! Why should we obey you?”

Kurt had responded by disarming Constantin a dozen different ways. “You’re dead,” he said as the tip of his sword ended up in the hollow of Constantin’s throat. “You’re dead,” he said again, as he sliced a cut that would have bisected him if the sword had been real, and not merely a wooden imitation used for practice. “You’re dead. You’re dead. You’re dead,” he said, each set of words punctuated with a fatal blow. “You want to know why you should listen to me? That’s why.”

“Your father hired me to teach you how to stay alive, and I’m going to do it. Until you can defeat me in a fair fight, you’ll listen to me. Now, fight with honor.” 

_Fight with honor._ She had killed Constantin, not in a fair fight, but with a blade to the heart. _Was there honor in that? He was not expecting it, he trusted me…but he had the power of a god._

 _Power._ As Constantin had grown from a boy into a man, he’d learned to despise his father and all he represented. _He ran from power. He didn’t want to be like his father._ Augustin d’Orsay lived only for the accumulation and exercise of power, for politics and backroom dealings, to accumulate wealth and prestige for house d’Orsay and the Congregation of Merchants alike. _From sixteen to twenty-six, Constantin spent more time drinking, wasting time, and shirking both his studies and his training than he did doing anything worthwhile._ Constantin had seemed to decide that, since his father had concluded he was a disappointment, that he would do everything he could to justify his father’s opinion of him.

 _All of that changed when we came here._ Constantin had been so hopeful on the journey over: the eternal optimist, spinning out all his dreams for the future, asking Vasco everything he could about New Serene, pestering the entire crew for details about his city. _His city,_ she couldn’t help thinking, and thought again of that dark streak in his personality, the self-centeredness, his need to possess. _He loved this city, as he loved me. Whatever his faults, he truly wanted to make New Serene a better place._

She remembered his enthusiasm for governance, the brightness in his gaze as he’d spoken of his plans, the way he’d plunged into even the most mundane tasks of governing with the determination to do them well. _He took pleasure in having found a purpose here. He would have come into his own, so far from his father. If he had never had the malichor…_

Tears dripped from beneath her eyelids, and she opened her eyes once more to look at Constantin. _I should have asked_ en on mil frichtimen _to show me the life you would have had if you never drank from that poisoned bowl. Was there ever a future where that happened?_ She could imagine it well enough herself: Constantin learning that he was capable of ruling and ruling well, of seeing New Serene thrive under his governance. She could imagine him taking pride in both his own achievements as governor and hers as legate, taking pleasure in watching her thrive.

_If he had never taken ill, could he have been happy for me?_ She wasn’t sure that Constantin had been jealous of Kurt so much as disbelieving: he hadn’t quite accepted that she could love someone in a way that she couldn’t love him. _My friendships with Siora and Aphra, with Vasco…_ Constantin had been quick to dismiss the discovery that she was sea-born, and therefore a Naut by birth; again, he had been emphatic in his declaration that she was _his_ beloved cousin, _his_ only true family. _Would he have grown jealous of Vasco?_

Remembering Vasco’s jealousy of her, there was a certain irony in that. _Everyone wants what they have never had._ Vasco had been jealous of de Sardet for growing up a noble with a loving mother; Constantin had been noble, but had never had a loving parent. _I wish I could believe he would have understood. Constantin was my family, but Vasco is my family now as well._

She wanted to believe that there could have been a future where Constantin, hale and healthy, had been hailed as a superb governor; she wanted to believe he could have lived a life where he had returned to Serene in triumph, celebrated for all his accomplishments. Most of all, she wanted to believe there was a world where their friendship could have endured even as it changed, where they would always be cousins and dear friends but where Constantin was not de Sardet’s entire world, only a single part of it. _A very dear part, but a part nonetheless._

 _I think that would have been a world where your father would have been proud of you. Surprised, yes, but proud._ De Sardet looked down at her cousin. _Prince, in all my orisons be remembered. Forgive me._

She remembered the bright-eyed cousin who’d sprung onto Vasco’s ship, even how joyful he’d been as he debarked, the way he’d practically danced to the palace, overwhelming Lady de Morange with his enthusiasm. _He would not have wanted me to destroy everything he had built. He would have wanted to see New Serene thrive; he would not have wanted its people swept away by the man he became. That was not the Constantin I knew._

Alexandra de Sardet looked down at the features of the monster Constantin d’Orsay had become, and saw the man beneath. _You had such hopes, and such dreams._ The man she knew would have wanted her to achieve her own dreams; he would have shared in her joys and her triumphs, and celebrated each of her successes as his own. _I think you would have forgiven me._

“We are the stuff that dreams are made on,” she murmured, “and our little lives are rounded by a sleep.” She rested a hand just below his ribcage, where she had slid the dagger in. “Good night, sweet prince.” _I’m sorry, Constantin. I love you._

“Goodbye,” she murmured, and straightened, turning away from the body. “I’d like to go now, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those unfamiliar with Shakespeare: de Sardet's last line of the game, "Good night, sweet prince," is from Hamlet. If Constantin gets the reference to the uncertain prince of that play, I decided that The Tempest, with its magical island setting, was perfect for de Sardet, and "we are the stuff that dreams are made of..." is from that play. Meanwhile, "...in all my orisons be remembered," is again pulled from Hamlet, albeit slightly altered.


	22. Chapter 22

The day of Constantin’s funeral was bright and beautiful: a perfect blue sky shone overhead, with only the slightest streaks of white clouds high above.

Lady de Morange had arranged for his pyre to be outside the city gates, far in the hills; Kurt had risen well before dawn to arrange for the Coin Guard to transport the body to the location of the pyre, moving it in a closed wagon well before the city was awake. No one noticed the lone wagon that made its way out of the city, flanked by a dozen members of the Coin Guard; if they had, they would have attributed it to the Guard moving supplies. Once everything was in place, Kurt sent word to the palace, then returned to the legate’s residence inside the city.

“Sweet Excellency,” he greeted her. “Everything is ready.”

They made their way outside the city, going past the farms and mills outside the gates, past the place where ‘Egon’ had placed his dead drop, through the hillside. Beyond the rise of the hills beyond, sufficiently far away from the road that no travelers or merchants would seek out the rising smoke, the Coin Guard had erected Constantin’s pyre.

They walked there together, eschewing horses or wagons in favor of a quiet procession. Vasco and Aphra went ahead, ready to clear the road of bandits or highwaymen, while Petrus served as a rearguard. Kurt and Siora stayed at her side, and as they walked, Siora spoke; de Sardet thought that her friend might have been trying to distract her, to keep her from giving into her grief while she walked.

“I do not know your customs,” Siora said. “I do not know how you show respect to your dead. But you helped me return my mother to the earth, and for that I will always be grateful. I will do whatever I can for you, _carants_.”

“If we were in Serene, Constantin would be buried,” de Sardet explained. “Only those who are unable to afford a grave are burned.”

“Unable to afford?”

“You have to pay to be interred in a cemetery. Land is precious in Serene,” de Sardet explained. “Those whose families cannot pay for a plot of land for burial are burned, their ashes scattered out over the canals. Even then, most families only pay for a plot of land for fifty or a hundred years; after that, another person may be interred in the same plot. Only the richest families can afford a permanent tomb, and those are always family affairs.”

“We have family tombs, great buildings of stone where the dead are interred.” She thought of the mausoleum of House d’Orsay, a monument to their power. “There will be an effigy of Constantin, a stone statue that will be placed in the tomb near his remains.”

She described the prayers that would be said over his body, the blessings given, the public funeral and the period of mourning that would follow. “The number of mourners in the streets is an indicator of a prince’s power. My uncle may well hire people to act as mourners, to wear black and display their grief in the streets.”

“You would pay people to pretend to grieve? This is strange indeed.”

“It is,” de Sardet had agreed. “Constantin would have hated it. The hired mourners will only grieve for a day, but his family…in Serene, those who were related to the dead must wear black for a time, to show their grief. The Prince d’Orsay will drape the palace itself in black.”

“How long must you wear this?” Siora leaned over and pinched the sleeve of de Sardet’s mourning clothes: she had chosen a black doublet, black trousers, and a black cravat, along with a fashionable black hat and high black boots. In Serene, her mother would have forced her into a dress, but she had always preferred the ease of movement provided by an embroidered doublet and a well-fitting pair of trousers.

“Constantin was my cousin. One month is all custom demands. If he had been my brother, it would be for six months; his parents will be expected to wear mourning for a year.”

“One month,” said Siora. “It does not seem to me wise, to shroud yourself in the colors of grief for so long. I do not wish to see you lose yourself again.”

“I won’t,” de Sardet promised. “Not so long as I have friends to draw me from my sorrow.”

“I will not leave your side,” Siora promised in return.

As they drew nearer the pyre, she saw that Lady de Morange, Sir de Courcillon, and Monsieur Vaillancourt were already present: they had ridden to the site together, traveling by wagon, and had therefore arrived sooner. The diplomatic affairs advisor and de Sardet’s old tutor both looked nervous at the prospect of being so far from the city limits, but Lady de Morange was unfazed. All wore the dark clothes of mourning and equally somber expressions.

_Is this what Constantin would have wanted? If he had died of the malichor, would he have preferred a grand public funeral on the palace steps, or would he have been satisfied with knowing that a few people who knew and loved him were mourning him privately?_ She had no doubt that all three of the ministers were genuinely grieved, if to different extents: Vaillancourt had advised Constantin but not worked with him as closely as Lady de Morange, while de Courcillon had known him longer than either.

“He was a fine young man,” said Vaillancourt, and proceeded to lavish praise on him. The description he gave of Constantin was one that de Sardet barely recognized: she had loved her cousin dearly, and she knew that her own opinion of him was far kinder than most, but even she could tell that Vaillancourt sought more to flatter her than to genuinely remember her cousin.

Lady de Morange was more sincere, but her words were also overly kind. “He was a remarkable young man, taken from us far too soon. I still remember the day that he arrived on these shores. I must admit, I did not expect such an enthusiastic young man, bursting with life, teeming with ideas of how to improve this city. Nor did I expect that he would truly listen to what I had to say; I fully believed he would impose his own vision without listening to others. Yet I was surprised by how willing he was to listen and learn…”

It was a beautiful eulogy, but all de Sardet could think about was the first moments of that first day, when Constantin had descended the ship and been met by three doctors. _One was one of Doctor Asili’s pupils, while the other two were ignorant of his plans to taint Constantin’s cup – and my own._ Despite the temperate weather, de Sardet felt a shiver go down her spine as she thought of how close she had come to death. _My heritage granted me immunity._ If it hadn’t, she would have been condemned to the same slow, painful death as her mother and cousin.

She only knew when Lady de Morange had finished speaking because she clasped both of de Sardet’s hands in hers. “My sincerest condolences to you, Lady de Sardet,” she said, and moved aside to allow de Courcillon to speak.

There were tears in de Courcillon’s eyes he shared his own grief. “I am sorry, my pupil,” he said. “I will miss him. I still remember him as he was, the eager young boy who greeted me on my first day as your tutor.” He shook his head sadly. “I always knew he was destined for greatness.” As he painted a burnished picture of Constantin with his words, de Sardet could only remember the times he’d hung his head in despair as Constantin snuck out of the library, lost himself in daydreams, or provoked another student into a fight in the middle of a lesson. “Had he never taken ill, he would have become a great man, following in his father’s path.”

“That’s exactly what he didn’t want,” Kurt muttered, and de Sardet glanced at him. He gave her the smallest of smiles, and she smiled back, taking a step closer to him.

“De Courcillon knew him better than this,” he whispered as she drew near. “He’s trying too hard to polish his memory. He doesn’t have to. Constantin wasn’t all bad.”

It wasn’t the glowing eulogy that each of the diplomats had given him, but that made de Sardet smile: Kurt had known Constantin, and his honest assessment meant more to her than all of Vaillancourt’s false flattery or de Courcillon’s eager attempt to lionize her cousin.

“We are all very truly sorry for your loss,” said Vaillancourt when de Courcillon had finished. He glanced over his shoulder, at the hills, as if he expected brigands or _doneia esgregaw_ to spring up at any moment. “Now that you are here, shall we proceed?”

There was very little ceremony to it: there were no grand eulogies, no rituals or ceremonies. The only prayers spoken were those murmured by Petrus, who bowed his head and spoke a litany for the dead, commending Constantin’s soul to the Enlightened.

At a command from Kurt, his hand-picked group of Coin Guards unlocked the wagon that contained Constantin’s body. They had placed him upon a wooden stretcher that served as a bier; hoisting it onto their shoulders before setting it down again on the pyre.

When they had placed him into the pyre, de Sardet found herself taking a step forward, gazing into the nest of wood and tinder. She couldn’t help thinking of the pyre in the Prince’s Place, where all those who had died of the malichor were burned. _The pyres are still burning there, but could we finally find a cure?_ Her heart ached as she thought of her desperate attempts over the past months, the conviction she’d clung to that she’d find a cure in time to save her cousin.

_Oh, Constantin._ Despite the weeks that had passed since his death, the stasis spells that had been placed on his body had held well enough: he wasn’t swollen with rot or blackened with decay. In fact, he looked much as he had those weeks ago in Credhenes, as she had collapsed next to him.

_If we had burned you then, I would have wanted to join you on the pyre._ She found that she was grateful to _en on mil frichtimen_ for having showed her how wrong she was: seeing the empty shell that her life would have become if she had joined Constantin made her realize how much she had to live for, surrounded by her friends. _I want to see how Siora’s people will flourish under her guidance. I want to see Bishop Petrus get his cardinal’s hat. I want to read the book about this island that Aphra will write. I want to sail the seas with Vasco again. I want to build a life with Kurt._

She gave Constantin a last, long look. While Aphra hadn’t trimmed his branches, she had made an effort to straighten his hair; it had failed miserably, and de Sardet could see the strands falling messily over his face. _Even when we were children, he always resisted any attempt to comb it._ Later on, he had insisted that it gave him a certain insouciant charm, much to de Sardet’s amusement.

His collar was pulled close around his face, and he was wearing a thick pair of leather gloves, high boots, and a long jacket, meaning that only a glimpse of his face was visible. The green marks of the _on ol menawi_ and the black scars of the malichor were both very much in evidence, standing out against his pale, bloodless skin. De Sardet’s gaze strayed to the left side of his abdomen, just below his ribs, but she could see no sign of the wound that had killed him.

_He looks peaceful._ The dead never looked as if they were sleeping, but de Sardet couldn’t help but think that he looked as if he was finally at rest. 

She stepped back. She had said her goodbyes to him the day before, and in her heart, she was ready. Her eyes met Kurt’s, and she gave him a slight nod.

Kurt took a torch from one of the Coin Guard. “Attention, guards!” he called out. “Fall back!” The guards obeyed, and he set the burning torch at the base of the pyre.

De Sardet stood and watched as the pyre was consumed by flame. She watched as the flames began to lick up around her cousin, as Constantin’s face was obscured by smoke; she saw the moment that the branches on his head caught, wreathing his face in a halo of flame.

She stood there for a long time, waiting for the pyre to burn. Vaguely, she was aware of Lady de Morange saying something, and of de Courcillon and Vaillancourt following suit, but she paid none of them any mind; she heard de Courcillon say something to Kurt, and heard him reply, though the words were indistinct. She heard only the crackling of the flames.

When the flames began to burn low, Kurt put a hand on her arm. “It’s done,” he told her. “You should go now. They’ll do what needs to be done and bring his remains back to the palace.”

“The branches…did they burn? If they return his remains to my uncle…”

“They’re gone,” said Kurt. “You don’t have to concern yourself with it. Lady de Morange will make those arrangements.”

She nodded, but still found she didn’t want to tear herself from the pyre.

“The sun is going down,” said Vasco. “We should get back to the city before nightfall.”

Still, de Sardet found it hard to tear herself away. “I don’t want to forget him,” she admitted. “If I go back to New Serene now, no one else will speak of him. No one else wants to remember him.”

“We’ll remember him,” said Kurt. He looked to Siora. “On the way here, you asked how we remember our dead. You saw how the nobles of the Congregation have their funerals; let’s go back to the house, and we’ll remember the dead the way we do in the Guard.”

“Now I’m curious,” said Aphra. “How do the Coin Guard inter their dead?”

“It’s not about the burial,” Kurt said. “Though that’s how it usually is. Most of the Guard are buried where they fall, according to the customs of whatever land they’re in.”

“The nations of the Bridge Alliance have several burial customs, but the custom in Al Saad is interment by sunset the day after your death,” said Aphra. “We don’t attempt to preserve the body with magic, and we certainly don’t bore the living with days of services, as they do in Theleme.”

Petrus was unfazed. “Our rituals show respect to the dead,” he replied. “The prayers commend their souls to the Enlightened, and help protect them from demons as they are guided into the Light.” He looked to de Sardet. “The prayers I spoke over your cousin’s body were meant to guide him away from the darkness.”

“What of the Nauts?” Aphra asked Vasco as they moved back into the city. “I’ve never heard of what the Nauts do with their dead. I would suspect it’s burial at sea, but I’ve never heard of the rituals or prayers that accompany such a burial, or of any kind of monument being erected afterward.”

“That’s because it’s a secret,” Vasco replied. “We don’t share our ceremonies with outsiders.”

“Like your Naut magic, or the location of your island, or anything else,” Aphra sighed. “It’s a shame. I’m sure it would be fascinating.”

“You have an entire island to study here,” Vasco replied. “You don’t need ours.”

They kept up the back-and-forth all the way to the legate’s residence. Once there, Kurt said a few words to Vasco, then went directly to the wine cellar, bringing up several bottles; meanwhile, Vasco went for the liquor cabinet, retrieving the spirits that were stored there, before returning to the kitchen for half a dozen wine-glasses.

“Here,” Kurt said, setting down the bottles with a clank. “This is how the Coin Guard remembers their dead.”

“By drowning yourself in drink?” Aphra asked skeptically.

“By telling stories of the dead,” Kurt replied. “The drink helps keep the stories flowing – and makes them hurt a bit less.” He opened the first bottle, pouring each of them a generous glass. “You remember the person you lost: the good parts, the bad, all of them.”

“I thought that grief was supposed to wash away all a person’s faults,” said Petrus. “In Theleme, it’s considered ill-mannered to speak ill of the dead.”

“It’s the same in Serene,” said de Sardet, remembering how de Courcillon had glossed over all of Constantin’s misdeeds while expressing his condolences. “Even now, you saw how Lady de Morange and the others would speak no ill of him.” 

“Did it make you feel better?” Kurt asked her. “Did it make you feel as if you were remembering Constantin, or did you think he was talking about a person you wouldn’t have recognized as your cousin?”

“Death is supposed to make you forget a person’s faults.”

“Is it? Are you ready to name him Saint Constantin and forget every bad thing he’s ever done? He could be a little shit, but he could also be kind. Especially to you, Green Blood. But if you remember the good without the bad, you won’t be remembering him.”

“I’m afraid I’m not going to be of much help,” said Aphra. “I barely knew him before he discovered that he was afflicted with the malichor, and after that, well…”

“Father Petrus knew him as a child,” said de Sardet. “Vasco got to know him on the voyage here. Kurt was our master-at-arms. Enough of us knew him that we can remember.”

Petrus nodded. “I’m afraid I didn’t know him nearly as well as you would like,” he admitted. “My interest was in looking after you, my child.”

“But you did know him. We were always together, and you would have seen him.”

“Yes, I did.” Petrus looked to Kurt. “Though, since this is your custom, why don’t you begin?”

Kurt raised his glass. “I knew Constantin from the age of eleven,” Kurt said. “He certainly wasn’t perfect, but he was better than most people gave him credit for.” He spoke warmly of Constantin – more warmly, de Sardet thought, than she’d expected, given Kurt’s feelings when Constantin had tried to kill them.

_He’s speaking of the Constantin we knew,_ she realized, _not the person he became._ It was easier for her to pretend that they were two different people, as if she had never managed to rescue Constantin from Vinbarr, and the person who had awakened after his three-day slumber had only shared a face and body with the cousin she had lost.

_It isn’t entirely true._ Constantin had gone mad, but even in that madness, there had still been a flicker of her cousin. _The boy who would climb to the top of the world and reach out his hand to raise me with him was the same man who reached out and offered to make me a god._ Both times, she knew, taking his hand would have destroyed them both.

_But Kurt remembers him, just as I remember him._ She was sure that he was softening his words for her sake: she knew that he had always been fonder of her than Constantin, who he had viewed as softer and more spoiled. _He wasn’t entirely wrong._ Neither of Constantin’s parents had been the sort to coddle him, but the mere fact of being the only son and heir of the Prince d’Orsay had meant he had been born to a life of luxury. _He never got into trouble that he couldn’t buy his way out of, or talk his way out of, or rely on me to get him out of._

“The first time we were introduced, Constantin was eleven, and Green Blood there was ten. Constantin asked me how old I was. I told him I was nineteen, and he said I looked like I was too young to be a master-at-arms.” Kurt nodded to de Sardet. “She told him I was ancient.”

“I was ten. Everyone who was over fifteen was ancient,” de Sardet protested.

“Constantin wouldn’t stop pestering me about it. I told him that I’d be twenty in a few months, but that was a mistake. He said I might be almost twenty, but I looked like I wasn’t thirteen.”

“So you stopped shaving,” de Sardet laughed, remembering. Kurt had been entirely clean-shaven when he’d first been appointed as their master-at-arms, but Constantin’s words had led him to grow out that familiar stubble.

Kurt rubbed his jaw. “I thought it would make me look older. As it turns out, Constantin agreed.”

“He was so jealous,” said de Sardet. “He wanted to grow a beard himself, but he never could. When he was fifteen, he tried to grow out stubble like Kurt’s, but he could never get it to grow in evenly. He’d end up with a patch here, a patch there, half a mustache, peach fuzz—”

“This was also about the time that he was being entirely insufferable,” said Kurt. “Skipping practices, trying to slip his guards to go out on the town alone, boasting about his skill with a blade. He started mocking everything and everyone around him, me included.” Again, he rubbed at his jaw. “I wasn’t about to get into a war of words with His Highness, so I figured out another way to get back at him. I stopped shaving for a week.”

“The next time Constantin came to practice, Kurt had a full beard, and Constantin still had the ridiculous remnants of whatever it was he was trying to grow. He shaved the next day.”

“But I kept the beard for the next month,” Kurt finished. “I never liked it, but it was worth it, just to see how irritated he was every time he looked at me.”

De Sardet leaned over and rubbed his stubble, before planting a kiss squarely on his jaw. “I never liked it either. Don’t grow it out again.”

“I won’t, you don’t have to worry about that.”

De Sardet told the story of Constantin scaling the palace walls, and Petrus told of his own early encounters with Constantin, a prank that Constantin had chosen to play on Petrus’s superior, Cardinal Benedict, then the ambassador to the Congregation. “He set the hem of his robes on fire while he was at prayer and waited to see how long it would take him to notice. I’m afraid that the Father Cardinal was quite engrossed in his devotions, and that he might even have been at risk of harm if a certain young lady of the court had not chosen to put an end to her cousin’s fun by dousing him with water.”

“Constantin said that he wanted to _enlighten_ the cardinal,” de Sardet remembered. “His father was furious. It was hardly the last time.”

She spoke of other pranks Constantin had performed, of chasing her cousin throughout the palace and of sneaking out. “We thought we’d gotten out alone, but Kurt was following us the whole time.”

“I’d have been a poor guard if I’d let two teenagers out of my sight, let alone out of the palace. The two of you never realized how dangerous it was.”

“From what Constantin told me, he was captured by brigands the very day we were set to depart for New Serene,” Vasco offered. “He must have told that tale to my crew a dozen times on the voyage: how he’d been taken unawares, held hostage in a warehouse, rescued by his fair cousin and the noble Kurt.”

“Why weren’t you with him then?” Aphra asked. “If you were their bodyguard, wasn’t it your responsibility to look after him?”

“The night before our departure for New Serene? I had other duties. I wasn’t His Highness’s only bodyguard, you know.”

“I would imagine that the only son and heir of the Prince d’Orsay had many guards,” said Petrus.

“That he did. He must have given them the slip that night.” Kurt took a sip from his glass. “It’s a good thing we left the next day. If the Prince d’Orsay had found out that his only son had been abducted and held for ransom by a scruffy gang like that one, there would have been hell to pay.”

“Constantin wasn’t a child,” said de Sardet. “He often went out into the slums.”

“Never without some of my guards shadowing him,” Kurt said. “He might have thought he was alone, but there were always two or three men watching out for him. I usually sent someone else because he’d recognize me too easily, and he tended to get very drunk and very angry if he thought that he was being followed.”

“He never realized,” said de Sardet. “Neither did I.”

“You didn’t sneak out into Serene,” Kurt replied.

“Well, not often.” De Sardet thought of the day she’d discovered her mother had the malichor. She’d run into Serene then, climbing over walls and running down alleyways, even though she’d been far too old for such escapades. Kurt had found her and brought her back to the palace. Not long after that, she’d tried to drown her sorrows in a bottle, getting blackout drunk for the first and thus far only time in her life; he’d found her then, too.

It wasn’t a story she wanted to tell, and Kurt clearly realized that. “You never gave me half as much trouble, Green Blood.”

“I have to ask,” Aphra said. “I’ve heard you calling her that now for months, and you’ve never explained it. Green Blood? Why the nickname?”

“She has the mark of the _on ol menawi_ ,” said Siora. “It is green. It is not blood, but—”

“It didn’t have anything to do with it,” said de Sardet. She smiled. “When Kurt first started as our master-at-arms, he told us that we were greener than the youngest Coin Guard recruits, and that by the time he was our age, he’d already been recruited into the Coin Guard. He said that he'd spent his entire life in one camp or another, practicing with a real sword, helping the officers with their horses and armor, and acting as an errand boy for the camp commander.”

“I said they were pathetic, a disgrace, all the things a sergeant says to their new recruits at drill,” said Kurt. “I told them they were greener than the greenest recruits, that they were a bunch of blue bloods who would need to be whipped into shape… and she steps forward and _raises her hand_ , right in the middle of my tirade,” Kurt said. “Well, I had to hear what she had to say, so I told her to speak. And she says, ‘Captain Kurt, sir, we can’t be blue bloods. You already said we were green.’”

“When I stopped laughing, I told her she was right, and I’d accept the correction. After that, she was Green Blood.”

“Green Blood,” Aphra repeated. “What did you call Constantin?”

“His Highness.”

Aphra snorted. “That’s not a nickname so much as a sign of respect.”

“Oh, it wasn’t respectful,” Kurt replied. “When I was giving that speech to Constantin and Green Blood about needing to whip them into shape, Constantin was outraged. I don’t think he’d ever heard anyone insult him before. He tried to tell me that I couldn’t talk to him like that, and that I needed to call him by his title. So I started calling him ‘His Highness.’” The amount of sarcasm and disdain that Kurt managed to compress into those two words was truly impressive. “I especially made sure to use the title every time I knocked him on his arse. The more I did it, the angrier he got. Eventually, he got tired of falling down, and decided I might know something worth teaching. He never did like the nickname, though.”

“He had enough of people calling him by his titles,” said de Sardet.

“Besides, it hardly sounds affectionate,” said Aphra.

“I was fond of him,” Kurt protested. “He was always a good pupil. Too prone to pretending he was a pirate king or a renegade highwayman when he should have been focusing on his technique, but he was smart and willing to learn. When we found out what he was planning, I was worried I’d taught him too well.”

That cast a momentary pall over the mood. “You taught me, too,” de Sardet reminded him.

“Yes, and you were always the better student.”

It took a story from Vasco to lighten the mood, talking of how eager Constantin had been to learn of everything aboard the _Sea Horse_. “Eager, but not exactly the stuff of a sea-given,” Vasco said, then embarked on a story about Constantin’s attempts at learning to sail that had ended with him nearly being knocked into the open ocean. “I knew if I drowned your cousin, you’d kill me,” Vasco told de Sardet. “But he was so willing to try that I had to let him. He would’ve gotten a tattoo, if we’d let him, just to say he had one.”

“When we were children, he used to dream of running away to join the Nauts,” said de Sardet. “I think he mostly dreamt of running away from his father. But I always told him I couldn’t leave my mother.”

They traded tales well into the night: Petrus offered stories of the child he’d met in the palace at Serene, tearing through the halls with a wooden sword, de Sardet chasing after; Kurt spoke of the boy he’d taught to fight; Vasco, of the young man who’d eagerly looked to the shores of Teer Fradee. Even Siora spoke of her first meeting with him, and how he’d called her princess and promised to send de Sardet to try to mediate between her clan and the Bridge Alliance.

“He treated me with respect, the same way you had. Before you came, I had not seen many _renaigse_ who were willing to treat us as equals.”

“He was sincerely willing to help,” de Sardet agreed. “He cared deeply about being a good governor – in part because he wanted to prove his father wrong, but he genuinely cared about the people of New Serene. He had so many dreams for what this city could be.”

“Because he sent you with me, I began my journeys with you, and because of that, we are _caranten_ ,” Siora said. “I did not know him, but I can be glad of that.”

By the time the night was over, most of the wine had been consumed, as had many of the spirits, but de Sardet felt better than she had while standing at the pyre. _Now they understand why I loved him,_ she thought. _Now they’ll remember him too._


	23. Chapter 23

The month of mourning was difficult for her: not because it was a month of mourning, exactly, but because of her promise to Lady de Morange to review Constantin’s papers, and to carefully curate the collection that would be sent to Serene, using them to tell the story that would be presented to the rest of the world as truth.

She started with the most recent papers, which she expected to be the most difficult: Constantin had left reams of scrawling, feverish expressions of madness that had spun into volumes.

“Why would he write so much?” Aphra asked. “If he wanted to keep these plans a secret, spinning them out on paper was the most foolish thing he could have done.”

“He did keep them under lock and key,” said Vasco.

“As if locks can’t be picked.”

“He was mad,” Petrus pointed out. “I doubt that rational thought came into it.”

“Constantin never could keep a secret,” said de Sardet.

“He always wanted to share whatever came into his head,” Kurt agreed. “Some passing fancy would flit through his mind, and he’d want to tell the first person he came across. He’d make a dozen plans for the future, each grander than the next, and never give any thought as to how he’d bring them to pass.”

“He couldn’t tell anyone, so he wrote down everything he could,” said de Sardet. “This was his way of sharing.” She looked down at the papers and began to read.

Constantin’s writing was hasty, drops of ink spattered in the margins, the parchment smeared and blotted everywhere; in places, it devolved to a barely-legible scrawl as the speed of his ideas exceeded that of his hand. The content was hard to read, and not only because of its illegibility: he spoke of sweeping away the old world, of destroying everyone and everything who he associated with its corruption.

“His revenge would have been terrible,” she murmured. Constantin had wanted to wipe out all the cities of the old world: he spoke of the hypocrisy and fanaticism of Theleme, and of the false miracles of the healer who’d failed to save him, and of the amorality of the Bridge Alliance, with its callous willing to experiment on innocents and trade in Naut and native lives in its attempts to find a cure. His fury at the scientists of the Bridge ran long: a screed against Doctor Asili, who had poisoned him, and who had tried to do the same to his fair cousin, ran for pages.

_The Bridge beheaded him, but what sort of punishment is that? A clean blow and a swift beheading are nothing. They should have fed him his own poison and made him die as slowly and painfully as possible. They ought to have experimented on him as he lay dying. Let their so-called doctors bleed and purge him as his blood turns black in his veins! My fair cousin was too kind. He deserved to die screaming, him and every last one of the men and women who worked alongside him in his laboratory. I will see that they do. When I have taken the island, I will send the_ nadaig _to find them. I will have them brought to me, and torn apart by_ andrig _even while_ dosantat _venom burns through their veins._ Constantin’s revenge fantasies ran long, promising torment and pain to any who had ever harmed him, threatened him, or even insulted him.

De Sardet was shocked when she turned a page and discovered that his plans for destruction had extended even to the city of New Serene. _Constantin loved this city. He had such plans for it._ She remembered an early dinner at the palace, when Constantin had good-naturedly complained about being unable to roam his city freely without a contingent of Coin Guard at his side. _He wanted to talk with his subjects, find out what he could do to improve their lives, to make the city into a shining beacon whose beauty would someday outshine Serene._

But his papers spoke of demolishing the city entirely, razing and burning it to ashes. _New Serene. A fitting name, an attempt to rebuild the old world in the new,_ Constantin had written. _That old world is my father’s world, and I will have no part of it in mine. How he will weep when he discovers it has been wiped from the map!_ He treated the wholesale slaughter of his subjects as incidental, a regrettable sacrifice that would be necessary in order to make the world anew. He spoke with disgust of the city as a blemish that his father had inflicted upon the island, a festering boil of corruption upon his realm, a symbol of the old world that needed to be swept away. Never did he express regret for the people who would die when it was destroyed, or think of those who had invested their lives in building it.

If anything, he expressed the most contempt for those who had helped him most. _Vaillancourt has just been to visit. I dismissed him as soon as I could. He is such a simpering fool, caught up in the minutiae of taxes and tariffs and trade. His horizons are bounded by trade permits and ledgers._ Of de Courcillon, their old teacher: _My father hired him to shape me into a creature he could control. He will learn soon enough that I cannot be restrained._

He was angriest of all at Lady de Morange. _She has said over and over that she knew nothing of the poison in the fortifiers, but she handed me the very vessel of my destruction. She encouraged me to drink. The governorship was hers, yet she professes ignorance. Could it have been that she wanted me dead, and would have poisoned both me and my fair cousin in the hopes she would be restored? I cannot stand the sight of her. Oh, the plans I have for her once the city has fallen!_

“Did anyone ever look into Lady de Morange’s involvement in the matter?” Petrus asked as de Sardet handed him the letter to consign to the flames. She had come to rely on Petrus for the task: while all her companions helped her look through the papers, Petrus had a politician’s instinct for knowing which needed to be saved and which ought to be consigned to the flames. “Constantin may have been mad, but if what he says is true, he may have had a point. Did Lady de Morange truly offer him the poison?”

“Yes,” said de Sardet, “though not intentionally. She chided the doctors for their discourtesy, ordered them away, and took the bowl from them to give to Constantin herself. But she had no idea that the drink was contaminated. When I returned to New Serene and told Constantin of what we had found, it didn’t take long for word to spread. She called on me, to ask if the rumors she had heard were true.”

She shook her head, remembering the horror that had spread across the former governor’s face as she’d realized her unwitting role in Constantin’s illness. “She was overcome with guilt; she nearly collapsed and was unable to speak for several minutes. As soon as she could, she begged my forgiveness, pleading complete ignorance. She was truly distraught.”

“She would hardly have confessed, even if she was involved,” said Petrus.

“She asked me if I was certain, and how I knew that it was the fortifiers that had been poisoned.” De Sardet had watched Lady de Morange’s face as she’d related the evidence she’d found, and had found her surprise and horror to be utterly genuine. “I even told her that my own drink had been contaminated as well, and that only my status as an _on ol menawi_ had saved me.”

“If you’re sure—”

“You’ve spent too much time in Theleme, with all its intrigues,” said Kurt. “After we found that note in Asili’s laboratory telling us what he’d done, I had my men investigate Lady de Morange. They never turned up anything. She was innocent; her only crime was trusting the palace’s doctors not to poison their new governor.” Kurt looked pained. “And their legate. I am sorry, Green Blood. I never thought of it, either.”

“There was no way you could have known, and nothing you could have done to stop them,” de Sardet said. “I’m just glad that doctor didn’t try to poison anyone else.” She’d had her own nightmares where the doctors had poisoned everyone aboard the ship: Kurt, Vasco, all the friendly sailors who’d been so kind to her during the voyage. 

Kurt turned back to Petrus. “Doctor Asili had a colleague in the contingent of doctors who greeted the _Sea Horse_ when it docked. Those doctors were all part of the palace’s staff; Asili’s accomplice was charged with monitoring both Constantin and Green Blood for signs of the malichor, and to track its progress when the symptoms appeared."

“It was because of me,” de Sardet said quietly. Doctor Asili’s trial had answered one pressing question: why a renowned doctor of the Bridge Alliance would risk war by attempting to infect the son and niece of the leader of the Congregation of Merchants with the malichor. “When my uncle announced that Constantin was to be the new governor and I was to be the legate, Ambassador Sahin wrote to Governor Burhan informing him of the appointments. Doctor Asili had connections with the palace in Hikmet.”

She reached up to touch her _on ol menawi_ mark. “Asili had already been experimenting on natives. He noted that the natives were naturally resistant to the malichor, and that those with the mark of the _on ol menawi_ seemed entirely immune. When Ambassador Sahin described my mark, Doctor Asili realized that it was the same as the mark that the natives shared…though without realizing that I was a native.”

“He wanted to test a theory, to see if the mark would confer immunity in a member of the Congregation as well as a native. He believed that Constantin and I were truly cousins, and knew that we had been raised together.”

“Constantin was a control,” said Aphra. “He wanted to see if the mark was protective for a member of the Congregation as well as a native, and if not, to track the progress of the disease in someone who was as close a relation as possible. He thought that you were related, and he knew that you had shared the same routines, the same diet, the same lifestyle.”

“He never knew that Constantin and I were not truly cousins,” said de Sardet. “My heritage protected me, and Constantin was murdered for no reason at all.”

“We arrested the doctor who did it,” said Kurt. “After we found that note in Asili’s laboratory, my men tracked down the doctor in the palace. Constantin had him tortured until he confessed. He was planning to have a public execution, but he went off with Catasach before he could arrange it.”

“Is he still alive?” Aphra asked.

“No. He was found dead in his cell one morning after Constantin returned.”

“He killed him,” said de Sardet. She held up another sheet of parchment. “After he returned. Constantin ordered the guards to change the duty roster that night. The man watching over his cell was one loyal to Constantin. Constantin visited him in his cell that night. By morning, he was dead. Constantin killed him.”

“The report said he’d committed suicide,” said Kurt. “One of my lieutenants told me it looked suspicious, but before I could look into it, Constantin had disappeared, and after that—”

“After that, there was no time,” said Siora.

“Does it matter if Constantin killed him personally or had him executed? He was guilty, and going to die anyway,” said Aphra. 

“Yes,” said Siora. She looked to de Sardet. “The man was guilty, the same as the man who we found near my mother’s banner, or even this Doctor Asili. But you were right to tell me not to kill him, and you were right to make the lions put their doctor on trial. This doctor should have been brought to justice by your people, not killed in the dark.”

Aphra grimaced, looking troubled, and de Sardet couldn’t help but wonder if she was thinking of her vision. _In another lifetime, Aphra was the one who offered Constantin that bowl._ In real life, Aphra had left Asili years before, wanting nothing to do with his increasingly abhorrent experiments; she’d even testified against him at his trial.

_Even so, I know that part of her wishes she’d come forward sooner._ Asili had used the power of his position to keep his subordinates silent, threatening their careers and even their lives; as a revered hero of the Bridge Alliance, his reputation had been enough to force them to keep their silence. “There’s nothing we can do about it now,” said de Sardet. “At least Doctor Asili himself was brought to justice through his trial. Thank you again, Aphra, for having the courage to stand up to him.”

“Would that I’d done it sooner,” she replied. After that, they lapsed into a long silence, each of them reading and sorting papers into piles for burning and piles for saving.

“I think that’s enough for now,” Petrus said, consigning another stack of papers to the flames. “Tomorrow is another day.”


	24. Chapter 24

Part of de Sardet was very glad when she realized she was reaching the end of Constantin’s post-ritual writing: it had grown hard for her to read constantly about Constantin’s plans for destroying the world, murdering hundreds or thousands of innocents, and setting himself up as a god. _If he could only have heard himself,_ she thought. The Constantin she had known had hated all his father’s scheming, the callous way that his mother used poisonings and intrigue to advance her own interests, their willingness to sacrifice innocents for their own advantage.

_By the end, he was consumed with his contempt for the world, his loathing for everyone who had misused him._ It was as if his newfound power had erased all the parts of him she loved best: his wild dreams, his enthusiasm for everything new, his desire to make a better world. In its place, it had amplified all his worst qualities. _He could be vicious to those he felt had wronged him,_ she thought. _He could always be vengeful._ Even on their last day in Serene, after she’d rescued him from the bandits who’d hoped to hold him for ransom, he’d implored her to murder them all.

 _Even as children, I knew he could be cruel._ Setting the cardinal’s robe aflame, putting poison oak in Isabelle de Renaud’s bed, “accidentally” spilling ink over Sir de Courcillon’s favorite book after he’d given the Prince d’Orsay a truthful but unfavorable report about his son’s progress in mathematics: there had always been a streak of deliberate cruelty in Constantin’s mischief. _He knew Atherton d’Ailes was vain, so he made sure to scar his cheek in that duel. He knew that Marie d’Amboise was flirting with him because her father wanted her to, so he pretended he was in love with her for weeks before he rejected her in front of half the Court. If he thought he was being manipulated or wronged, his anger could be terrible._

 _But he was always kind to me. If we were ever rivals, it was of a friendly sort._ They’d competed for accolades from Sir de Courcillon in the schoolroom or from Kurt in the training yard, but that had never been cutthroat: they excelled equally at schoolwork, both being intelligent, and if de Sardet had outperformed her cousin it was only because she was more diligent about doing the work. In the training yard, Constantin preferred a rapier, de Sardet magic; though Kurt insisted on training them in every area, it had been clear that their talents were so different that there was no point in direct competition. _When we sparred together, I beat him more often than not, but Constantin always said he let me win. Sometimes, he complained that it wasn’t fair I could halt him mid-step._

Even those thoughts hurt now: reading through his papers, she saw that Constantin had always included her in his plans, even from the very moment he’d realized that he could turn the island to his will. _He plotted revenge on everyone else, but he never wanted to hurt me._ He had spun page after page of plans to invite de Sardet to share in his godhood, binding her to him forever, brimming with excitement all the while.

 _She won’t understand now, but she will,_ he’d written. _It is hard now; we have always been of a single mind on everything, and I long to tell her all. But she is still attached to the old world, and will not understand my reasons. Once I am bound to the island, I can bind her to me, and then she will understand. I will make her understand, and once she does, she will not be able to protest…we will be gods here, together, forever, the new gods of Teer Fradee, with more power than my father could ever have dreamed of having. All my life, I’ve dreamt of having that sort of power, to wipe away this terrible world and build a better one in its place. But what good is this new world without someone to share it with? My fair cousin must join with me. She must see. How I long to tell her! Patience has never been in my nature._

That night, once they were alone together in her room, she confided in Kurt: “He thought we were of a single mind on everything. The more I read, the more I realize that he believed me to be an extension of himself. I was dear to him because I was a part of him.”

She paused. “You told me once that the best part of a relationship is discovering new things about the other person…about constantly being surprised by what you learn of them.”

Kurt nodded. “Every day I’m with you, I find something new about you to love. My sweet Excellency.”

“My hero,” she replied, brushing her lips lightly against his. Since their return from Dorhadgenedu, she’d been surprised to discover that the people of New Serene considered them heroes: both de Sardet herself and all her companions were regarded as such, greeted by name in the street, and Kurt especially was regarded as a hero for his actions during the battle. “We’re so different, but I love you because of it, not in spite of it.”

“I still don’t know how,” Kurt said.

“Because you have a good heart. You’re kind, and brave, and honorable—”

“Now you do sound like you’re describing yourself. The next thing I know, you’ll be telling me I’m a smooth-tongued diplomat who could charm anyone.”

That drew a smile from de Sardet. “You’ve charmed me, and you certainly know how to use your tongue, but you know I wouldn’t describe you as a diplomat.” Kurt had turned slightly red at her words, and she laughed at him. “You know what I mean. We may be alike at heart, but we aren’t identical.” 

“A good thing! No one wants to fall in love with their own reflection,” Kurt replied.

“Constantin did. He loved me, but I don’t know that he ever saw me as anything but a reflection of himself. Did he ever truly know me? He thought that I wanted exactly what he wanted – or that I would once he had the chance to tell me everything.” De Sardet bit her lip. “Did he think I would be persuaded? Or did he know that once I had bonded myself to him, I wouldn’t have a choice?”

“He probably didn’t think that he would have to persuade you. He expected you to trust him unquestioningly.” Kurt shook his head. “After everything we’d seen him do, even that was a form of madness. He knew that we were out there fighting for our lives against him, and he expected you’d forget about all of us the moment he extended his hand.”

“He thought our bond would outweigh everything else,” said de Sardet. “Back in Serene, it might have. Then, Constantin was more than my only friend; he was half my world.” She’d been fond enough of Kurt, de Courcillon, and some of the other members of the court, but Constantin and her mother had been the only two people she’d truly loved. “But here, now…I keep thinking how empty that life was.”

“He would have shared everything with me, but I can’t feel grateful. He trusted me, and all I feel is guilt for having violated that trust. I know it was necessary, but…”

“Constantin loved you,” Kurt reminded her. “That doesn’t mean you have to feel grateful to him for wanting to take your life from you. He knew you were attached to this world, and that you’d fight for it even when he’d given up on it, but he couldn’t understand that you’d changed.”

“I changed, but he’d changed, too.”

“I can’t argue with that. In fact, I wish he’d changed more.”

“What do you mean?”

“After he woke up, Constantin had changed, but he was still Constantin. Constantin with the worst parts amplified, broken by the fear of dying and everything he went through with Vinbarr, but Constantin nonetheless.”

“All of his worst qualities were amplified, and all his best subsumed beneath his anger and fear. He was so afraid of dying that he wanted to have power over death itself,” de Sardet murmured in agreement. “The malichor changed him, Kurt. I know it did.”

Kurt nodded. “Even after Catasach cured him, that didn’t change. He wanted to make sure he’d never feel vulnerable again. That ritual gave him a taste of the power he was seeking, and he realized he’d found a way to get exactly what he wanted.”

“Only he blamed the rest of the world for everything that had happened, and decided he wanted revenge. His desire for vengeance, his dreams for a new world, his wanting to destroy all who wronged him…all of that was part of Constantin long before we came to Teer Fradee,” de Sardet admitted reluctantly. 

Kurt nodded. “Which is why I wish he’d changed more, for your sake. It would have been easier for you if you could have seen him as a monster who was only wearing Constantin’s face, if there hadn’t been anything left of him that you recognized.”

“But it was Constantin. Constantin with all his worst qualities amplified a thousandfold, a Constantin who had lost his optimism and his cheer, but Constantin nonetheless.” She leaned in, running her hand over Kurt’s chest and shoulder, over one of the scars he’d received in the Battle of Dorhadgenedu. “I don’t regret it now; I can’t. I would have lost everything and gained nothing.”

“Immortality and godhood are nothing?”

“I might have been a god, but I wouldn’t have been myself,” de Sardet replied. “I saw what I became, and even the thought of it terrifies me.”

“Why? Because you were changed beyond recognition? Or because you could still see parts of yourself?”

“Because I could only see the worst of myself,” she said. “If Constantin’s worst qualities were his vengefulness, his self-centeredness, and his capacity for cruelty, then mine were my blind partiality toward Constantin, my tendency to put his desires before mine, and my lack of self.”

“You have more personality than you give yourself credit for,” said Kurt. “You may always have been with Constantin, but you were never alike.”

“Never alike, but never my own person. I yielded to him more often than not, and when it came time to make plans, or to think of the future…I became a different person in Teer Fradee, a better person. If I had joined with Constantin, all of that would have been swept away. I would have been as he wished, the person he imagined me to be, and in losing myself I would not even have gained Constantin. Joining him would not have brought my cousin back. And even if I could have gained him…it would not have been worth the cost,” she confessed. “I loved Constantin, and it still pains me to say it, but if the price of his life was yours…yours, and Siora’s, and Vasco’s and Aphra’s and Petrus’s, and the lives of so many people on this island…then the price was too high.”

“Constantin was right about one thing: immortality and godhood would have meant nothing without the people I love…without you.” De Sardet leaned in and kissed the scar on his shoulder. “I can’t imagine life without you, Kurt.” He wrapped his arms around her, and she fell asleep nestled against him.


	25. Chapter 25

That day was the end of Constantin’s post-transformation papers; reviewing the papers he had left prior to performing the ritual that had so changed him, de Sardet could see that they were far less numerous. These were painful to read for other reasons: the first papers she picked up were a sheaf of letters he’d drafted after Catasach’s arrival, speaking of how much better he felt and how hopeful he was that the native healer would succeed where those from San Matheus and Hikmet had failed.

_My dear cousin,_ he had written in a letter that had never been sent, _Catasach has created a marvelous elixir! It subdues the pain tremendously, and is far easier to stomach than any of the medicines the doctors here have given me. I am hopeful he will find a cure, though he says this is most unlike any disease he has ever encountered. I am most grateful to you for finding him. When I am cured, you must agree to stay in New Serene for at least a month, and we will celebrate properly. I miss you so, but know that, as always, you are acting in my best interests._

Other, later papers detailed the decreasing efficacy of Catasach’s elixirs and Constantin’s growing fear that the cure would arrive too late to save him; reading of his mounting terror and his fear of death, de Sardet could see the seeds of madness, the beginnings of his determination to survive at any cost. Many of the papers had been jumbled and put out of order; while Constantin had tried to keep up with his duties, the progression of the disease had clearly interfered. Private journals, letters to de Sardet, dispatches to Serene, and official memoranda had all been intermingled, pages interspersed with one another in no particular order.

_My fair cousin has returned from Hikmet. I saw how upset she was, but I could not have imagined what she had to tell me. She investigated a certain Doctor Asili, and…_ Constantin’s hand had grown shaky, and his quill had nearly torn a hole in the parchment. _She says my disease was inflicted deliberately, that this Doctor Asili sought to infect both myself and her, and that only her connection to the natives saved her from my fate. She has had him placed under arrest and has chosen to remain in Hikmet to aid the prosecution in their trial…_ What followed was a full page of invective against Asili, not only for himself but on behalf of his dear cousin.

 _He would have killed us both. I am so glad she was not afflicted. The thought that she should suffer such pain is unbearable. I wish that she had killed him when she discovered his treachery; I would not have trusted the Bridge to bring him to justice._ More invective against the Bridge Alliance and Governor Burhan followed. _I have written my father to inform him of the perfidy of the Bridge Alliance, but I do not think anything will result. In all the months I have been here, Father has not seen fit to write; for all I know, he will scarcely notice my passing. Mother will only take a professional curiosity in how the poison was created. My dear cousin is the only one who will miss me, which is precisely why she is so dear to me. No one else has ever loved me so unselfishly. Perhaps no one else has ever loved me at all._

The papers presented a disjointed overview of Constantin’s slow slide into disease: his disappointment with the holy man of Saint Matheus and the physician from Hikmet, the complete and utter despair he’d had in the first weeks after his diagnosis. There were pages that stopped and started abruptly, a journal entry that began, _I don’t want to die. It isn’t fair. I’m too young. This island was supposed to be a new beginning, a paradise free from all the death and despair we left in Serene. How is it that it has followed me here?_

_The pain was bad enough when I thought it a passing illness, but knowing it is the malichor is unbearable. The dread of future agony is nearly as bad as the agony itself. I know now why my aunt locked herself away. I cannot bear to see the pity in the eyes of others. They know I will be dead in a year, unless my fair cousin can fulfill her promise and find a cure. I wish she could be at my side, but that would mean giving up all hope of a cure, and I find my desire to live is too strong._

She was almost glad when she reached the bottom of the stack of papers, with Constantin’s official reports of the Coin Guard’s attempted coup mixed in with his personal papers.

_As if learning that I have contracted the malichor was not horror enough, it was immediately followed by the revelation that the Coin Guard was attempting to murder me! They would have killed me, my beloved cousin, and my entire retinue had it not been for Kurt’s timely intervention. He saved both our lives and those of our allies, as his aid allowed us to dispatch messengers to San Matheus and Hikmet informing them of the Coin Guard’s plans._

_I thought that we had left behind the assassination attempts in Serene. To discover that the plotting and political machinations of the old world have followed us here is beyond disappointing. Worse still were the effects of this wretched illness! New Serene is my city; I ought to have been at my fair cousin’s side helping to retake it from the traitors. Instead, I found myself stuffed in the palace cellar like some frail old woman, too weak to wield a sword in my own defense. My dear cousin tried to console me, but to see her risking herself for my benefit while I was left to cower in the palace basement was unbearable. The relief I felt at her return was immeasurable. The thought of losing her is unfathomable; it would be like losing a part of myself. I know she must feel the same way, and I cannot imagine what she will do when I am gone…_

At times, Constantin was consumed with thoughts of the coup: _We entrusted the Coin Guard with our lives, and look what it brought! Only the loyalty of a single man saved us. I confess myself surprised: I never thought that Kurt had so much affection for me – or for anyone, for that matter. Yet he is responsible for having saved my life, and that of my dear cousin’s, and for that he has my gratitude. He assures us that he will do everything in his power to root out the corruption that remains in the Guard, and my fair cousin has pledged to help him. Still, I must admit that I can no longer feel quite at ease within this palace. I find myself wondering about the loyalty of the men who remain, and whether or not I may be murdered in my bed one night – but then I tell myself that is foolish, for if they want me dead, all they will have to do is wait. A few months, a year…how much time can I have left? I’m so frightened._

But most of the time, his thoughts were consumed by the malichor: _I can scarcely write the words. Part of me feels as if I could keep them from being true if I refuse to commit them to paper. Yet I cannot forget the sight of my blood in the physician’s phial, that beak-faced harbinger of death, so ominously silent…I could go to pieces again. I have, a thousand times. My dear cousin has departed in search of a cure, and I pray she will find one in time, but I cannot help but think of her mother, blind and paralyzed with the pain. Will that be my end? I would rather slit my own wrists than suffer with such indignity. The dread disease I thought we left behind in the old world has pursued me to the new, and all the world will know soon enough. I look at myself in the mirror every morning and wonder when the first black vein will appear, when I will begin to wither and…I cannot write it. I cannot. I will go to pieces again, and this time, my dear cousin is not here to offer her support. I will not have the courtiers gossiping._

“I should have been there,” de Sardet murmured. After the Coin Guard’s coup, tinges of paranoia had begun to seep into his writing; she could see the fear that had eventually grown to consume him, the worries about all he was leaving undone. There was a healthy dose of self-pity in many of his letters: he had such hopes and dreams, and all would be left undone.

Yet he was not the Constantin who had fallen prey to madness: he was still optimistic most of the time, hoping for a cure, placing absolute faith in his cousin’s ability to find one. _If anyone can do it, she will. I trust her implicitly._ There were times when he spoke of what he would do after he was cured, the celebrations he would have. _The day I’m cured will be a public holiday. We’ll celebrate for a month. The first man to ever be cured of the malichor! My name will be famous throughout Teer Fradee – throughout the whole world. And my dear cousin will be celebrated as the woman who found this cure. It will be wonderful!_

Even after his diagnosis, he had remained a dutiful governor, tending diligently to all his duties. During the period of his madness, and the period of extreme illness that had preceded it, there were few official papers; he had left the business of governing to his ministers. Now, de Sardet began to uncover letters he’d drafted to the Mother Cardinal and to Governor Burhan, proposing trade links and permanent embassies; letters he’d meant for her to carry to the native tribes, declaring the Congregation’s desire for peaceful relations, granting them gifts, and describing the advantages that an alliance could bring; she’d even discovered charters he’d intended to grant to various expeditions to map the island, plotting future settlements, including an expansion of one mining village and the potential for founding another.

 _He had so many plans,_ she thought. The first time she came upon one of Constantin’s plans for the future, she nearly wept: this was not some megalomaniacal plot to make himself a god to the natives or to murder those who’d opposed him, but one of Constantin’s wild dreams: natives, Congregation, Theleme, and Bridge alike cooperating in a grand alliance, working to help every settlement prosper, bound together in a network of trade and mutual cooperation. _Perhaps one day we might even declare our independence from the Continent, and make a nation of our own, combining the best of all our people,_ he’d written. _The independent Republic of Teer Fradee. Oh, how my father would be furious!_

By the time that she reached the final sets of documents, she still grieved, but she was able to smile as well. “How hopeful we were, and how naïve,” she said, reading Constantin’s dispatches: his summaries to his father about her early exploration of the island, of her visits to San Matheus and Hikmet, of her first impressions of Governor Burhan, Mother Cardinal Cornelia, Siora, Eseld, and all the others she’d met in those earliest days. She saw copies of her own dispatches enclosed with them: apparently, he’d sent the originals on with his own letters, then made copies of them both to keep in his own files.

Remembering the simple joy of those early days, she lingered over both the dispatches and Constantin’s personal observations, which he had kept tucked in another drawer, locked away separately from his official reports. _My fair cousin has informed me that the enchanting Captain Vasco will be remaining with her indefinitely! Admiral Cabral has instructed him to assist her in any way that he can. While I have no idea of what assistance she can have in mind, I hope that he will be of use to my cousin, and that perhaps this portends a warming of our relations with the Nauts. I must admit, he is a handsome man, and not without charm, though he doesn’t smile nearly enough._

 _My fair cousin brought a native princess to the palace today. Siora, a_ doneigad _of the clan of the red spears, and a daughter of their_ mal _, or clan leader._ Doneigad _is the word that the islanders give to their sages; they have knowledge of healing and magic, and are renowned for their wisdom. She is younger than my fair cousin, but was remarkably passionate, and persuaded me to send my fair cousin to visit her people, to see if we can avert the bloodshed that is likely to occur between her people and our allies in the Bridge Alliance. I have ordered Captain Kurt to go with her; I am confident that he will protect her with his life, if need be._

_Sir de Courcillon has asked my dear cousin to aid him in mapping the island. Oh, how I wish I could go with her! If only we had the freedom to explore together, roaming the countryside like itinerant adventurers in some tavern singer’s tale, earning our coin by slaying monsters and rescuing travelers. Alas, I must remain here: I am determined that I should be a superb governor, and build upon Lady de Morange’s good work. My days are consumed in the endless tedium of my official duties, and I find that I cannot slip out to the tavern for a night’s revelry, let alone embark on an expedition into the heart of the island. Perhaps one day I will see it all, but until then, I will have to rely on the accounts of my fair cousin, who will see it for us both._

“This was the Constantin I knew,” she said as she set down the last of the papers. While most of her time had been spent sorting the papers into those that would be sent to the Prince d’Orsay and those that would be burned, she had developed a third and fourth pile: the third pile was official dispatches that would be saved for the new governor, while the fourth was a stack of Constantin’s personal letters that she wanted to keep for herself. _That way, I can remember him as he was when we arrived._ Keeping those letters helped her remember the cousin who’d bounded aboard the deck of the _Sea Horse_ so eagerly, leaping and laughing; it helped her remember his cheer in the early days of being on the island, and the way he’d smiled as he’d spun out his plans.

 _If I can remember him that way, I can think of how the future ought to have been._ She could imagine a Constantin who’d grown into his duties as governor, ruling well and wisely; she could see him channeling his wild dreams into manageable plans that improved the lives of New Serene’s inhabitants and helped the city to prosper. _I can imagine a Constantin who developed a life of his own here, and who would have celebrated with me when he realized that I had made a life for myself, too. We would have been different people, and he would have recognized that, but he would have been glad for me, just as I would have been glad for him. When I told him that I’d fallen in love with Kurt, he would have teased him and celebrated with me; he would have opened his heart to all my friends, and he would have cherished them because they meant so much to me._ That Constantin had never suffered from the malichor; he had never been driven mad with fear and pain.

That was the Constantin she saw in his early letters, the cousin she still loved. _You would have been horrified by what you became. You would never have believed it,_ she thought, looking down at one of his letters that described how much he loved the city and the island: he was enchanted with its inhabitants, with the governor’s palace, with the smell of fresh lumber and the sea air.

“We can tell the acting governor that we have her packet to send to the Prince d’Orsay, then,” said Bishop Petrus. “I believe that a fleet of Naut ships is due to sail for Serene next week. Lady de Morange will send news then.”

“News,” de Sardet echoed. “Will she send Constantin?” Her voice hitched as she spoke, rising on his name.

“I believe that she intends to hold delivery of his remains until after the news has reached him.”

“It is the stormy season,” Vasco offered. “She may not want to send him home until the waters are calmer. You saw how battered the _Rising Tide_ was when it put into harbor last week.”

“I’ll have to compose a letter to my uncle,” said de Sardet. “Lady de Morange will tell him that Constantin is dead, but he will expect to hear from me.”

That was a letter she wrote only with difficulty: part of her blanched at lying to her uncle, and part of her still ached at the thought that the letter wasn’t being addressed to her mother.

 _My dearest uncle,_ she wrote, knowing every word of the salutation was a lie, _I thank you for the news of my mother’s death. It is painful to know she is gone, but I am comforted by the knowledge that she is no longer suffering. I only wish I could have been with her when she passed._

She wrote nothing of her discovery of her true parentage: she knew she could not commit the truth to paper. Instead, she wrote only of Constantin. _I grieve deeply for my mother’s death, but am not shocked by it. I fear I must write with news that will both grieve and shock you: your son is dead. He was infected with the malichor, and has died._ She knew that Lady de Morange had said that Constantin’s final dispatch home had mentioned his diagnosis to his father, but that had been a mere line, and she couldn’t help but wonder why Constantin had downplayed the death sentence.

 _Did he hope the doctors could be wrong?_ De Sardet had been with him when they’d informed him, and she knew that wasn’t the case; Constantin had fallen into panic and despair, but hadn’t attempted to deny it. _Did he believe I would find a cure? Or did he believe his father wouldn’t care?_ She wondered if he had written hoping to provoke a reply from his father; after all, Constantin had died without having ever heard from either of his parents.

 _That was the last time he wrote home, in the weeks after we arrested Torsten and his lieutenants, after we’d received news that San Matheus and Hikmet had both been spared. He was just beginning to show the first signs of illness then, the first black veins and cloudiness in his eyes._ Constantin hadn’t even mentioned those symptoms to his father; his dispatch home had only related that he had received a diagnosis of the malichor and that the doctors had informed him he would not be able to return to Serene. 

_He never wrote home after that. He said nothing of anything that followed the coup: not of his abduction, or of Vinbarr’s death and the election of a new High King, or of Catasach and the ritual that cured him._ De Sardet knew that Lady de Morange had already collected a diplomatic packet, gathering de Sardet’s own dispatches as well as her own summaries, with inserts from Sir de Courcillon and Monsieur Vaillancourt; she also knew that Constantin’s writings would be added to them, both those of his governorship and the collection she’d curated of his personal writings, detailing a descent into despair and the hope he placed in native magic while excluding nearly everything about _en on mil frichtimen_ , his plans to seize power through repeatedly binding himself to the island, and the physical changes that had transformed him.

 _Constantin’s words will find their way home, but mine must accompany them._ She picked up her quill once more, thinking carefully before dipping it into the ink.

 _I attempted to find a cure,_ she wrote _. I found the best healers on the island to attend Constantin in his illness: a holy man in San Matheus, a physician of Hikmet, a_ doneigad _of the natives. The_ doneigad _was able to relieve some of Constantin’s pain, but he was unable to find a cure. Unfortunately, the_ doneigad _was killed by another of the natives who believed he was misusing his magic to help a_ renaigse _, a foreigner; that same native attempted to kill Constantin, but I rescued him, with the help of Captain Kurt and Siora, another native. This experience changed Constantin: he became convinced that the island’s magic could save him, and attempted to use a native ritual to cure himself. This ritual caused a disruption in the balance of nature on the island, resulting in native animals attacking both our allies in San Matheus and Hikmet. Whether it was that ritual or the malichor itself that killed him, I do not know; I found him too late to stop him, and he died in my arms._

After she wrote those words, she had to stop: her hand was shaking, and she reverted to diplomatic formality for the rest of the letter, speaking at a remove. _With his death, the ritual ended, and the island has been restored to its normal balance. Our allies in Hikmet and San Matheus have been persuaded that the Congregation was not responsible for his actions, and there should be no further diplomatic consequences. Knowing that his body would not endure transport to Serene, we have cremated him, and await your instructions on whether you would like his remains buried here or sent home. I give my commendation to several of my companions, including Captain Kurt of the Coin Guard, Captain Vasco of the Nauts, Lady Aphra of the Bridge Alliance, Bishop Petrus of Theleme, and Princess Siora of the clan of the red spears. I owe each of them my life many times over. I also commend Lady de Morange, Sir de Courcillon, and Monsieur Vaillancourt, who have divided the duties of governor between them while we await your appointment of a new governor; I will not say someone to take Constantin’s place, as no one could do that._

_I am so sorry that he is dead. I wish I could have done more for him. High King Dunncas has promised me that he will do everything he can to help us find a cure for the malichor, so that no more people will die as Constantin has. You know how greatly he is missed. He called me ‘my dear cousin,’ but he was dear to me as well, as I know he is dear to you._

De Sardet sealed the letter and sent it off with the rest. “Lies,” she said as she placed her seal on the letter. “Lies, all of it.”

“Some would say better a kind lie than a harsh truth,” Petrus pointed out.

“What would you have said?” Aphra asked. “‘Dear Uncle D’Orsay, your son discovered that he could take the island’s power for his own, went mad, and tried to become a god, so I had to put him down. Please don’t kill me for it. Post scriptum: I’m sorry you’ve lost your only heir, good luck making a new one. Sincerely, your niece, Lady de Sardet, Legate of the Congregation of Merchants on Teer Fradee…though I’m quite aware I’m not actually your niece, which is another matter entirely.’”

“Aphra!” said Petrus.

“There’s enough of the truth in that letter,” said Vasco. “You don’t have to be ashamed of it.”

“It isn’t that I’m worried he wouldn’t understand if I told him the truth,” said de Sardet. “I’m more afraid that he would believe it happened, and that he’d hope to find a way to seize that power for himself. The power of a god…there are too many in the Congregation who would want to seize that for their own, regardless of the cost.”

“He doesn’t need to know,” Kurt said, moving closer to her. “Vasco’s right: it’s true enough. He died of madness and malichor. If he’d never taken sick, he wouldn’t have died there.”

“Do you think he will believe?” Siora asked.

“I’ll let you know when he does,” said Vasco. “Admiral Cabral sent a messenger to me yesterday.” He couldn’t keep the grin from his face. “She’s told me that the fleet she’s sending back to Serene is mine. I’m being promoted to Fleet Commander.”

“Congratulations!” De Sardet smiled in return. “Commodore Vasco. I’m glad for you.”

“I hoped you would be. I know it’s sudden, and I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to leave so soon, but—”

“It’s what you’ve wanted. I know you want to return to sea.”

“This is the longest I’ve ever been ashore in my life,” Vasco admitted. “She’s offered me everything I could have wanted. The _Sea Horse_ will be my flagship, I’ll have all my old crew, and I’ll be based out of Teer Fradee, dividing my time between making crossings and sailing around the island.” He ran a hand along his cheek. “I’ll get my fleet commander’s tattoo before we go, along with a tattoo for bravery. Admiral Cabral said she wanted to honor my actions in the Battle of Dorhadgenedu.”

“Fleet Commander before thirty,” de Sardet said. “Isn’t that unheard of?”

“I’ll be one of the youngest commanders in Naut history,” Vasco answered. “Fleet Commander of Teer Fradee. It’s an honor and a privilege.”

“It’s well-deserved.”

“That it is,” said Kurt. “In fact, I’d say it’s worthy of celebration. Why don’t we make it a night to remember?”

They had a week before the _Sea Horse_ , the _Star Fish_ , and the _Merry Dolphin_ set sail, and the six friends spent that time celebrating. Part of de Sardet knew that it might well be the last time they were all together; she was well aware that her friends had lives of their own, and couldn’t remain in her shadow forever. _They all have hopes and dreams of their own,_ she thought, _deeds they want to accomplish, family or friends to return to._ Siora had her people, Vasco his crew; Petrus had his political ambitions, Aphra her research. Even Kurt had his work with the Coin Guard, though de Sardet was very glad that his duties allowed him to remain at her side; while she was willing to let her friends go, the thought of being entirely alone was too hard to bear.

But she put all thoughts of loneliness aside while she spent that final week with her friends. The first thing she did was attend Vasco’s promotion: while the ceremony, like most Naut customs, was shrouded in secrecy, Admiral Cabral had permitted de Sardet to attend. “You are sea-born, after all,” she said. She’d watched him receive his tattoos as well: both the curls that indicated he was a Fleet Commander, and the lines that indicated extreme bravery in the face of danger. Vasco spent both ceremonies smiling widely; she overheard Lauro, one of his crew, saying that he didn’t think he’d seen his captain smile or laugh half so much in all the rest of the time they’d spent together.

“Congratulations, Commodore,” said Admiral Cabral. “If you keep this up, you’ll be admiral before you’re thirty-five.”

“I’ll be glad to be back at sea.”

“I’m sure you will. If you’d ever like to join him…”

“For a pleasure cruise, perhaps,” de Sardet said with a laugh. “But I doubt I’d make a very good sailor, and I’m too old to start out as a cabin girl.”

“Should you ever change your mind, we’d be glad to take you on. Once a Naut, forever a Naut, Your Excellency.”

The rest of the week was devoted to all her friends. They went out into the wilderness together, visiting some of de Sardet’s favorite parts of the island; they boarded the _Sea Horse_ and went sailing for a day; they spent their nights at the de Sardet residence or the Coin Tavern, exchanging stories, laughing, and reminiscing about their time together.

When the day of departure came, they walked down to the harbor, watching Vasco give commands to his men, making sure that his cargo was packed securely, ordering the sailors about.

“I’ll miss you all, you know,” he told them. He gave de Sardet a hug. “We’ll go sailing again when I return. You’re a Naut, too, and you ought to learn more about how to master the waves.”

“I’d like that,” she said.

Vasco looked to Kurt. “Take care of her,” he said, sounding very much like a protective older brother.

She had thought that Kurt might needle him about his overprotectiveness, but he only nodded. “I will.”

“I’ll return as soon as I can,” Vasco promised. “It’s three to four months each way, depending on the winds and whether or not we put into harbor anywhere else along the way, but I’ll bring news from Serene. Is there anything you want from the port? I’m no smuggler, but a fleet commander has the right to a few crates of his own.”

“Come back to us safely,” de Sardet told him.

“A Naut would say, ‘Steady winds and fair seas!’”

“Then steady winds and fair seas, Commodore,” de Sardet said with a smile.

“Steady winds and fair seas,” he answered back, then bounded up the gangplank. He might have been Fleet Commander, but Vasco wasn’t content to let his sailors do the work: he began shouting commands, bounding back and forth across the deck. “Lively!” she heard him calling as the _Sea Horse_ began to move out of port, his voice carried on the wind. “Lively now, catch me a wind!”

They watched until the ship vanished over the horizon.

 _And now we wait,_ de Sardet thought.


	26. Chapter 26

They waited, but life didn’t stand still. Siora was the next to leave.

“You told me that you would understand if I had to return to my people,” she told de Sardet, shortly after the _Sea Horse_ ’s departure.

“I’m grateful you remained with me so long.”

“I will not leave you forever, _carants_ , but it is time. You helped me return my mother to the earth, and I stayed with you while you did the same for your cousin, but I must see my village. Eseld already feels I have stayed away too long. My clan will be electing a _mal_ soon, and while I know it will be Eseld, I should be there to give her my support.”

“You will always be welcome here, Siora.”

“You will always be welcome in my village. May the grass always be soft beneath your feet.”

Aphra went with her. “I’d like to see how the natives choose their _mal_ ,” she said, “and Siora has given me permission to go with her. It will be absolutely fascinating, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure,” de Sardet said with a smile. “Do you plan on coming back after that, or…”

“I want to return to my studies. I’ve had enough of shooting to last a lifetime. I think that after I’ve visited Siora’s clan, I’ll go to Dunncas; he’s promised me that he’ll teach me.” Aphra smiled. “I’d like to write a book.”

Shortly after that, a messenger came from San Matheus. Petrus sighed when he read the letter. “The Mother Cardinal calls me to San Matheus. She says that she wishes to honor me for my actions during the Battle of Dorhadgenedu. I believe I’d consider it more an honor if I could remain here.”

“It’s all right,” de Sardet reassured him. “San Matheus isn’t very far away. We can always come visit you.”

“I hope you will, my child.”

That left Kurt. The night after Bishop Petrus departed in the company of a merchant caravan, de Sardet held him close. “Promise me you won’t leave,” she murmured.

“My sweet Excellency,” Kurt told her. “I promise you I’m not going anywhere.”

When the Coin Guard brought a message to them less than a week later, de Sardet couldn’t help but feel a thrill of fear. “Captain Kurt,” the recruit had said, presenting himself at the de Sardet residence just after breakfast; he had the look of a fresh recruit, young and clean-cut, and his voice carried all the enthusiasm of youth.

“Present yourself, soldier.”

“Recruit Emmerich, Blue-Silver Regiment, sir,” he said. “Commander Sieglinde commands me to inform you that she has returned to New Serene, and that she wishes to speak with you, sir.”

“When?”

“Immediately, sir. She is in her office at the barracks.” Emmerich’s gaze slid to de Sardet. “She ordered me to tell you that Legate de Sardet is welcome to accompany you, sir.” He hesitated. “If I may speak freely, sir.”

Kurt looked bemused; it reminded de Sardet of the look he’d given her when she was ten and corrected him after he’d called her a blue blood. “Permission granted, soldier,” he said, with a look that said, _This ought to be good._

“I just want to say, sir, it’s an honor.”

Kurt blinked: clearly, he hadn’t been expecting that. “An honor for what?”

“An honor to be in your presence, sir. The Hero of Dorhadgenedu. Everyone in the barracks heard about what you did there. Saving Commander Sieglinde’s life, charging at that _lewolan_ to save Lieutenant Ilse and Recruit Werner, taking that scratch on your shoulder to keep your friend from the Bridge Alliance safe – it’s amazing, sir.”

“You know what the Guard says about heroes.”

“Yes, sir, but it’s not correct. I think even Commander Sieglinde would agree.”

Kurt snorted. “And does Commander Sieglinde confide in you, recruit?”

Emmerich looked at his feet. “No, sir.”

“I’m no hero. I only did what any member of the Guard would do: I fought with honor.” Kurt stood. “Fight with honor, for your fellow Guards, and for your friends. That’s not heroism; that’s only doing your duty.” He nodded to de Sardet. “Legate de Sardet was the hero that day. If not for her, we’d all be dead.”

“Kurt,” de Sardet said, embarrassed.

“An order’s an order, and we should find out what Sieglinde wants.” He looked to Emmerich. “Lead the way.”

De Sardet made conversation as they walked from the legate’s house to the barracks. She asked Emmerich where he had come from, how long he had been with the Guard, and why he had joined: those three questions led Emmerich to chatter incessantly the entire length of the journey.

“Don’t worry, Green Blood,” Kurt reassured her, leaning over while Emmerich was going on about the village he’d left in Theleme. “Sieglinde knows I won’t accept reassignment. I’m not going anywhere.”

Even so, de Sardet’s heart was racing by the time they made their way into Sieglinde’s office. The commander of the Coin Guard on Teer Fradee was at her desk, reading through a stack of paperwork; when she heard the door open, she looked up.

“Recruit Emmerich, presenting Captain Kurt and Legate de Sardet!” he announced, saluting stiffly.

Sieglinde looked him over; de Sardet thought she saw a trace of amusement in the other woman’s eyes. “Dismissed, recruit!”

“Yes, sir!” Emmerich pivoted on his heel and moved out.

As soon as he was gone, Sieglinde cracked a smile. “I don’t remember ever being quite so green.”

“You never were,” Kurt replied.

“Nor were you. I used to think you’d been born with a sword in your hand,” Sieglinde replied. “At least some of us can remember life outside a camp.”

“I never could."

“I know. I always thought that was a shame.” Sieglinde’s gaze drifted to de Sardet. “I’m glad you’ve been making up for lost time.”

Kurt squared his shoulders. “The first of my standing orders was to protect Governor d’Orsay and Legate de Sardet,” he said. “I failed in that first task, but—”

“You’ve done an admirable job of the second, no one can dispute that,” Sieglinde said with a wave of her hand. “I’m not criticizing you, Kurt; I’m happy for you. When you killed Hermann, I was worried about what you’d do afterwards. I didn’t want you to spend the rest of your life focused on revenge, but I knew the Guard had always been your life: first, last, and always. That’s an empty life, if you don’t have anything else.”

“Duty and honor aren’t meaningless. You know that.”

“I do. But I also know that you can’t take duty to bed at night, and that while many men love their honor, it’s not the same as loving a woman.” Again, Sieglinde smiled. “You’re blushing, Kurt. It’s sweet.”

“I know that the Guard might not approve,” he said, his voice rough. “I know the Prince d’Orsay wouldn’t, either.”

“Fuck the Prince d’Orsay,” Sieglinde replied bluntly; that made Kurt look up. “He’s not on this island, is he? Besides, even if he doesn’t approve, it’s not as if he’d pull the contract. Who would protect him? The Congregation has no standing troops of its own. As for the Guard, well…on this island, I am the Coin Guard. You put me here, and I’ll use the authority as I see fit.”

“I didn’t bring you here to lecture you, or reprimand you, or even to congratulate you. I am happy for you,” she repeated. “You’re a dear friend, and a comrade-in-arms, and I’ve told you twenty times that you ought to have better dreams for the future. Reforming the Guard is an admirable aim, and I’m glad to have you by my side as we do it, but it shouldn’t be the only thing you want out of life.”

“Why am I here, then?” Kurt glanced to de Sardet. “Why are we both here?”

“We’re here because of your actions at Dorhadgenedu. We both know you saved me, and a lot of other lives as well. Those actions didn’t go unnoticed. You might have already heard from Emmerich what the men are calling you.”

“The Hero of Dorhadgenedu,” de Sardet supplied. Kurt flushed a deeper shade of red.

“The Hero of Dorhadgenedu,” agreed Sieglinde. “And it’s not only the Coin Guard who know of it. All the men and women who fought at Dorhadgenedu are being hailed as heroes across the island, but your name stands out. If not for you, I’d be dead, and those beasts might well have broken through our lines. If that happened, the forces further up the slopes might not have held out long enough for Legate de Sardet to stop her cousin.”

“She’s the hero, not me. We both know that.”

“You’re both heroes,” Sieglinde corrected him. “She stopped her cousin, and your valiant actions allowed her to do so.” She eyed him with amusement. “If you didn’t want people to call you a hero, you should have let me die. At the very least, you shouldn’t have insisted on carrying Legate de Sardet down from the mountain by yourself.”

“You carried me? With that shoulder?”

Sieglinde looked amused. “As I said, he was quite the hero. Whether he wants to admit it or not.”

“Because of that, Kurt, you’ve earned yourself a promotion. Congratulations, Major.” Anticipating his next protest, Sieglinde added, “I want you to accept a position as special advisor to the commander. You’ll report directly to me, and your only duty will be to help me ensure that the Coin Guard on Teer Fradee becomes the institution we both know it can be. I want to make sure that all our men are honorable, upright, and loyal, and that we never again have the likes of Egon, Torsten, Rolf, or Hermann within our ranks. No more protection rings or ghost camps, no more talk of armed insurrection or _coups d’etat_. We make the Coin Guard on Teer Fradee into what it should always have been: a mercenary company, yes, but one that believes in its founding ideals.”

“It’s perfect, Kurt,” said de Sardet. “That’s exactly what you should be doing.”

Kurt looked to Sieglinde. “I want to stay with the Blue-Silver Regiment.”

“You can keep your current post,” said Sieglinde. “I plan on promoting Lieutenant Gerda to be the new captain of the guard at the palace; she’s proved herself trustworthy. But I also have no objection to you keeping your standing order to ensure the protection of Legate de Sardet. In fact, I think it would be best if you were her personal guard.”

“Moreover, I’m going to see that you’re awarded several commendations for your actions at Dorhadgenedu. The Red Stripe, of course, but also the Gold Bar, the Blue-Silver Medallion, and maybe even the Medal of Honor.”

“The Red Stripe is for being wounded in action,” Kurt explained. “The Gold Bar is for saving your commander in battle, the Blue-Silver Medallion is for meritorious action in the service of the Congregation, and the Medal of Honor is for extraordinary valor.”

“You can add it to your collection. The governors of Hikmet and San Matheus have already put you forward for the Green-Azure and Red Sun Medallions for your actions in preventing the coup, and you’ll have another Blue-Silver Medallion from the Congregation for that. Add that to your medals from the wars on the Continent, and you’ll be quite the decorated officer, Major. Keep it up, and you may find yourself in my chair some day.”

“Don’t tell me you’re that eager to give it up.”

“No,” Sieglinde said. “I’m eager to reform the Guard too, Kurt. That’s why I want you by my side.”

“I'm staying in New Serene,” Kurt said again.

"I wouldn't ask you to leave. I plan on making my headquarters here.”

“Then I accept,” Kurt said.

Sieglinde smiled. “You didn’t even ask about the pay increase. Here,” she said, and slid him an envelope. “Your formal letter of promotion, with your new rank insignia, your billet, and your new salary. Quartermaster Manfred has already changed the logs. Oh, and something else you’ll appreciate.”

Kurt read the letter, then looked again to Sieglinde. “Don’t mention it,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “I’m glad for you, Kurt. You deserve this.” She looked to de Sardet. “Both of you. If it wasn’t for you, Your Excellency, we wouldn’t have uncovered half the corruption in the Guard. You’ve helped us restore our reputation. I truly am glad for both of you, and I want you to know, you’ll always have a friend in the Guard.”

“Thank you,” said de Sardet.

“We’ll have the formal ceremony sometime next week. I’m still dealing with moving men between regiments and trying to train the new set of recruits that came in on the last ship.” Sieglinde reached for a stack of papers. “If only all my duties could be so pleasant. Good day, Major, Legate.”


	27. Chapter 27

Over the next days and weeks, de Sardet was somewhat perturbed to discover that Sieglinde was right: like the others who’d fought at Dorhadgenedu, she was hailed as a hero. Moreover, despite the carefully curated lies that they’d created, everyone seemed to know that she had somehow stopped Constantin. No one seemed to know precisely how; at least, no one voiced the truth in front of her, or breathed a hint that Constantin had died at the point of a dagger and not from the malichor or a magical ritual gone awry. But the regard she was greeted with everywhere she went suggested that she was popularly viewed as the savior of the island.

A _doneigad_ from Vigyigidaw was the first to speak more than a hint of the truth: “ _En on mil frichtimen_ has told us of the child of the earth, stolen from the land, who saved us all from the death-bringer. The people of Tir Fradi know what we owe to you, _on ol menawi_. Without you, our island would have fallen prey to his greed.”

“Anyone who fought at Dorhadgenedu knows you went into the sanctuary alone,” Kurt pointed out. “They know that you went in to face Constantin, and that when you came out, he was dead and their lives were saved. They may suspect the truth, but none of them are going to question the official story, not after you saved their lives.”

That bothered de Sardet as well, if only because she knew how they would remember Constantin. “They all think of him as a monster, don’t they? They won’t remember his plans for the city, or how he was so diligent in carrying out his duties, or that he kept working even when he was so sick he could barely stand.”

“Trying to murder someone does generally mean they won’t remember you fondly, Green Blood,” Kurt pointed out. “Too many people died in the attacks on Hikmet and San Matheus, and at Dorhadgenedu. If anything had happened to you, do you think I’d have forgiven him?”

De Sardet remembered the future she’d glimpsed: Kurt’s heartbreak as he’d realized the de Sardet he’d loved was irretrievably gone, the despair in his eyes as he’d charged headlong to his death in some pointless war on the continent. “No,” she admitted, then thought of how she would have felt if she’d awakened in Vigyigidaw to discover that Kurt was dead, or that Vasco or Siora had fallen, or any of her companions. “I couldn’t blame you, either.”

She paused. “Do you forgive Constantin, then? Can you remember him as he was?”

“You know I don’t remember him as fondly as you do. He always did have his faults.” Kurt paused. “But I don’t think of him as a monster, no. I remember him as he was, the good and the bad – and I think that if he’d lived, he would have grown into a better man than he was. I’ll always regret not being able to protect him.”

“There will always be a few people who remember him as more than what he was at the end. Vasco spent those months with us on the voyage here, and Petrus remembered him as a child, in Serene. You know that.” She thought of the night they’d spent remembering him, and knew the truth in his words. “Everyone he left behind in Serene will remember him. Maybe not always fondly, but not as a monster or a madman.”

Weeks passed, and her grief lessened, fading into a duller ache. “Losing someone’s like an old scar,” Kurt told her. “It’ll hurt less as it heals, except that some days it’ll strike you out of nowhere, and you won’t know why it hurts so much. You’ll see something that reminds you of them, or have a memory out of nowhere, or hear someone mention their name, and it’ll feel like an old wound that’s reopened. But it’ll happen less often over time. It won’t ever stop, you won’t ever forget, but you’ll go a week or a month or a year and realize it hasn’t hurt half as much.”

As the weeks became months, she realized that Kurt was right. She resumed her duties as legate, and was pleased to receive a visit from Aphra not long afterwards. “I wanted to come in person,” she said. “I stayed with Siora long enough to watch her clan choose their new _mal_ , but I’ve been in Vigyigidaw for the last month, visiting with Dunncas. I’ll be returning soon, but he wanted me to introduce an envoy from his own clan.”

“I am Eamon, a _doneigad_ from the clan of the sap bearers,” said the man; he looked to be about de Sardet’s age, clean-shaven and curly-haired, with dark skin heavily covered in the chalk-white paint of his clan. “Dunncas wished for me to visit you, _on ol menawi_ , and to tell you that _en on mil frichtimen_ will fulfill its promise: we wish to help you find a cure for this malichor. He says that he will send a delegation of our people to your lands, _doneigada_ from every clan on Tir Fradi, and several from our own clan. If we can teach your people to heal their earth, perhaps we can also heal them of this malichor.”

“Thank you,” said de Sardet.

“It is we who should thank you. You saved _en on mil frichtimen_ , and with it, our people and our island. The death-bringer would have destroyed our connection to our land, taking it for his own, and in doing so would have destroyed us all.” Eamon bowed his head. “I honor your sacrifice, _on ol menawi_. My brother fell at Dorhadgenedu, and his loss was painful enough, but I know he gave his life willingly for our people, and in a good cause. You have no such comfort. In bringing death to the death-bringer, you saved us all, but your deed was no less painful because it was necessary.”

Aphra shot a look at Eamon. “We’ve been over this,” she said. “Constantin died from a combination of the effects of the malichor and trying to channel native magics he could not control. By the time Legate de Sardet found her cousin, he was dying or dead.”

“What the _renaigse_ wish to believe is their own concern; _en on mil frichtimen_ will not forget, and neither will we.” Eamon looked to de Sardet. “You have saved our people and our land, and we will do our best to repay the debt.”

“I am sorry for your brother, Eamon,” said de Sardet.

“You gave his sacrifice meaning. That honors him,” Eamon replied. “The High King wishes to know when he may tell the people to send their _doneigada_ , and what preparations they ought to make for their journey. He also wished to ask if you believed he ought to send a _mal_ to represent him.”

“He suggested the new _mal_ of the clan of the red spears,” said Aphra.

“Eseld?” The suggestion surprised de Sardet; Siora’s sister was not especially friendly toward _renaigse_ , and she had difficulty imagining that Eseld would be willing to leave Teer Fradee to travel to Serene.

“No. Eseld will stay here. He thought you might like Siora to head the delegation.” At that, Aphra could no longer conceal her smile.

“Siora?” Kurt asked. “They made Siora the new _mal_ of her clan? How does Eseld feel about that?”

“The clan of the red spears decided that both daughters of Bladnid would lead them,” Eamon supplied. “They believed that both Siora and Eseld had great wisdom, and that they ought to lead together.”

“I listened to their debates,” said Aphra. “Many of them argued that Eseld had been with Bladnid during the Battle of the Red Spears, but others argued that Siora had gone to find allies, and even if she arrived too late, her actions were not without wisdom. Others pointed out that Siora fought at Dorhadgenedu where Eseld did not, and that the battle was the more important of the two.”

“Most of the arguments revolved around Eseld staying with her people while Siora was with you,” she told de Sardet, “but there was discussion of how Siora’s association with you allowed Queen Bladnid to be properly returned to the earth, and how by helping you uncover the truth about the attacks, then fighting at Dorhadgenedu, Siora had helped save _en on mil frichtimen_.”

“Everyone who fought at Dorhadgenedu is a hero,” said Eamon.

“You most of all,” Aphra told her, although again she couldn’t suppress a smile as she looked to Kurt. “Though I did hear a lovely song about a certain _other_ Hero of Dorhadgenedu last night in the Coin Tavern…”

“He’s been promoted,” said de Sardet, eager to share the news. “Major Kurt is a special advisor to Commander Sieglinde.”

Aphra rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “You’re so proud of him. I’d forgotten how sickeningly sweet you were together.”

“You act as if you’ve never been in love.”

“I haven’t,” Aphra replied. “Love, romance, courtship…it all seems a pointless distraction, if you ask me. Physical needs can be met easily enough, but I don’t see the need for a romantic relationship.”

"Surely you've seen that there's more to life than the needs of the mind," de Sardet said.

"The needs of the body?"

"The needs of the heart," de Sardet replied. 

She shrugged. “I don’t believe that I will ever meet anyone intriguing enough to be worth the trouble. My work is my passion. It isn’t as if I want children.” 

“You might feel differently if you found your _minundhanem_ ,” Eamon offered. “My brother thought as you did, until he met the one he called his _minundhanem_. He said it was as if he had been missing a part of himself and had never known.”

“I’d rather be whole in and of myself, thank you,” Aphra replied.

“You’d learn more about yourself,” said Kurt. 

“To see yourself reflected in someone else’s eyes…” de Sardet smiled. “It’s a gift, Aphra.”

“One I can do without, thank you.” Aphra shook her head. “I’ll take logic over love any day, and keep both my mind and my heart to myself." 

"Suit yourself," said Kurt, "but you don't know what you're missing." 

Aphra couldn’t stay long, but she did promise to stop at Vedrhais on her way back to Vigyigidaw, conveying their congratulations to Siora; she also ended up conveying a long letter back to Dunncas. “I’ll translate it for him, and write a letter for Eamon to bring back. I want to stay in Vigyigidaw for a good long while; Dunncas has promised to teach me their language, and I’m determined to learn everything I can about their culture.”

“I’ll look forward to reading your book,” de Sardet told her.

After that, she threw herself into planning: sending a delegation of _doneigada_ to Serene would be a delicate political matter, especially given Serene’s history of kidnapping _doneigada_ , including de Sardet’s own mother. Dunncas was willing to help, but wanted reassurances that the _doneigada_ wouldn’t be held against their will; de Sardet would have given them if she could, but was concerned about what her uncle might do once the _doneigada_ had landed. She spent a good amount of time in conference with Lady de Morange, Sir de Courcillon, and Monsieur Vaillancourt, discussing matters of diplomacy and whether or not they believed her uncle would honor the natives’ position as envoys; she also discussed whether or not it might be better to send a single envoy before an entire delegation.

“If he learns that Constantin died of the malichor, he may be more willing to accept a delegation of _doneigada_ ,” Lady de Morange suggested.

“Or he may be angry because they were unable to save him,” Monsieur Vaillancourt said.

“It will take months for word to travel back and forth. While we delay, people will die,” said de Sardet. “Yet I would not send them to him to be betrayed.”

“I believe your uncle is capable of dealing honorably with the natives,” said de Courcillon. “He wants to maintain good relations with them; your mother’s kidnapping was decades in the past, and he has not countenanced anything like it in the years since.”

“Yet I still do not know why he raised me as his niece. Obviously, he wanted me to return here, but what were his plans? I must believe that he never intended for me to leave, but did he intend to make me the governor? What are his plans for New Serene?”

They were unanswerable questions, and the more de Sardet considered, the more she began to wonder if she would have to return to Serene. “It’s the last place in the world I want to see again,” she told Kurt. “There is nothing left for me there. Teer Fradee is my home now; everyone I love is here. But can I live with never having answers?”

“Do those answers matter?” Kurt asked her. “Your uncle wanted to use you to further his influence here, that much is clear. But whatever he intended you to do, you don’t have to do it. He’s an ocean away; he can’t hurt you here.”

“Can I send a dozen _doneigada_ across the sea without being there to ensure their protection? Can I leave them to navigate Serene on their own? The politics, the customs, the language…all of it will be foreign to them. Dunncas says he will send only those who have learned our tongue, but…” She sighed, holding up the latest letter from Aphra. “Aphra says that he is discussing appointing Ullan as an emissary. He has lost his position as _mal_ of the bone blowers’ clan, but Dunncas feels that his silver tongue and understanding of the _renaigse_ may be useful.”

“Understanding? Ullan would play both sides against the middle and sell out his own people if he thought it would gain him more power,” Kurt scoffed.

“I know. Dunncas does not trust him, either; he would send others with him: Siora, of course, and a woman named Cliodne, from Vignamri. He says they both have experience with _renaigse_ , and while not as well-spoken as Ullan, have the best interests of their people at heart. Ullan, he says, thinks like a _renaigse_ , but Cliodne has made a study of them. From how he describes her, I think she and Aphra would get along.”

De Sardet frowned. “I cannot imagine sending Siora to Serene and not going myself,” she admitted. “And there is a part of me that would like to return. It isn’t home, but to have a chance to see my mother’s tomb, or to ask my uncle the questions that have haunted me since I first learned the truth…"

"I hate the thought of returning," Kurt said. "Serene was never good for you." 

"I know," she sighed. "I fear what my uncle would do if he learned the truth...and my aunt's wrath even more. Constantin was her means of keeping power. If she knew I was to blame for his death..."

"We don't have to go back." Kurt took her hands in his. "I'll go anywhere with you, you know that, but I worry that I won't be able to protect you there. I worry that it'll do more harm than good if you do return. I worry that your uncle won't let us return." 

"So do I," de Sardet admitted. "I know it would be dangerous...but I cannot imagine sending Siora and the other _doneigada_ there alone. They don't know what they're heading into; I do. And if Dunncas does send Ullan, I would not trust him there."

"Neither would I. One more snake in that nest of vipers." 

"We may not have to return," de Sardet offered. "We can wait and see what happens. Perhaps Lady de Morange will return to Serene with the _doneigada_ , or we can find another way." But she couldn't help thinking of her mother, and of Constantin: of wanting to know more of her mother's last days, and wanting to be sure her cousin was properly laid to rest. _To truly be able to begin again, I may first have to say goodbye to Serene._

**Author's Note:**

> For those unfamiliar with Shakespeare: de Sardet's last line of the game, "Good night, sweet prince," is from Hamlet. If Constantin gets the reference to the uncertain prince of that play, I decided that The Tempest, with its magical island setting, was perfect for de Sardet, and "we are the stuff that dreams are made of..." is from that play. Meanwhile, "...in all my orisons be remembered," is again pulled from Hamlet, albeit slightly altered.


End file.
